The Girl with the Voice
by massivelyattacked
Summary: A series of interconnected one shots and snapshots of the Dovahkiin from the perspective of traveling companions, friends, lovers and those who attempted to cross her. Rated M for language, some sexual situations. Latest update: Brynjolf
1. Onmund

**A series of connected one shots of the Dovahkiin from the perspective of traveling companions, friends, lovers and those who attempted to cross her.**

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><p><em><strong>Onmund<strong>_

_By the nine…seven thousand steps…_

No one lied when they described the journey to High Hrothgar. Onmund wasn't quite sure how he had gotten himself involved in this journey. But he suspected that she'd have gone alone had he not accompanied her.

_Curse this hard-headed Breton!_

Marieka had found herself in trouble no matter where she turned. But he'd have followed her to the ends of the nine holds and beyond. When they'd first met at the College of Winterhold, she took an almost abnormal interest in her fellow apprentices, including Onmund. He'd not met many Bretons in his travels. She certainly was his complete opposite in so many ways…Nords didn't normally embrace the use of magic, but Bretons did. And she undoubtedly had the natural affinity for the arcane that her people possessed. His blood made him stronger…taller than her – he towered over her. Gods…most Nord _women_ towered over her. As well as Orcs, Khajiit, Argonians, Redguards and most elves. She was…tiny. Yet her slight stature did not stop her from…well, most anything. He had been too nervous to even confront Enthir to give him back the amulet that belonged to his family, after he'd stupidly sold it to him. Gods only know what she had to do to please the damned Bosmer enough to convince him to give that amulet back. Onmund never asked her…he didn't really want to know. Yet she'd done it…she'd retrieved the amulet and given it back to him without hesistation…without question. Of course he'd follow her when she needed. She'd never had to even ask.

Still, he knew she most definitely would have gone to High Hrothgar alone. Why would she have done otherwise? You don't refuse the Greybeards when they call you. You don't refuse the Greybeards when you are told that you are the only Dovahkiin to be born in centuries.

You just don't.

He thought back to the day the dragon had been slain in the outskirts of Whiterun. There they were, minding their own business…about to _leave_ Dragonsreach to head back to the College when…

_Now, how did that go again?_

Onmund thought back to the beginning. In one of her journeys, she'd told him that she 'ran into' Balgruuf. He didn't know how one simply runs into the Jarl of Whiterun, but this was Marieka he was thinking about – she had this odd way of running into people that could get her places. He had discovered that she was studying at the College and since everyone seemed to believe that mages should stick together, insisted that she speak to his court's Wizard, Farengar. It would seem that the man was having some trouble locating a stone of some kind. Without hesitation, she left Whiterun on her own to find the stone. It ended up being a map of some kind – she didn't know, or she didn't say. And he wasn't about to ask.

But she had returned home to the College – with the stone. She'd been so proud that she found it on her own. Onmund felt a twinge deep inside of himself when he discovered she'd put herself into danger by travelling alone like she had been. He told her that she'd not be left alone again…that he'd go with her when she returned to the Wizard to deliver the stone. She laughed at him. Said she didn't need protection. Yet she accepted his offer anyway. Perhaps the promise of companionship was more needed than protection anyway.

They returned to the Jarl's home…Dragonsreach. Onmund had never been to Whiterun, but it was a beautiful city. Some internal squabbling between clans, but then, what Nord city _didn't_ have a little conflict? Farengar had been given his stone, which he excitedly referred to as the Dragonstone.

Dragons…_every_where. If Onmund had not heard the word dragon again, it would have been too soon.

But of course, the Dunmer had entered the room and made it too soon. _Far_ too soon…

A dragon had attacked the Western Watchtower. Irileth, the Jarl's housecarl, asked them…well, asked _her_ to come with her to hunt the beast. Marieka replied with no words…only action. There was a fire stirred within her that was barely perceptible to those who didn't know to see it…yet Onmund saw. He knew. Something big was on the horizon. Something bigger than the dragon that they were about to hunt.

When the dragon lay dead next to the tower, Irileth watched as Marieka stood alongside it…as something…_something_…flowed from the dragon and into her. Its essence? Its soul? The guards watched in awe…some of them spoke the word…

_Dragonborn…_

Marieka didn't know what to think. She ignored the cries from the soldiers that stood round her. She pushed through the group and Onmund hurried after her.

"I can't be… How could I be…? Onmund, let's just go back to the College. Get away from all of this," she pleaded with him and he'd obliged. They hurried on and as they neared the gates of the city – the gates that the pair were about to avoid – the world shook.

A rumble…a collective voice…beckoning…calling…

The look of fear – pure, untainted fear – crossed her face. Onmund took her hand and their eyes met. Before either could say a word in response, Irileth approached them from behind.

"You do not think you will be leaving before speaking to the Jarl, do you?" she asked. Though it was not a question, so much as a command.

Marieka resigned herself to go with the elf, and Onmund walked at her side. He heard her mumbling to herself…over and over… "I'm not Dragonborn. I'm not Dragonborn. I'm not Dragonborn."

The Jarl told her immediately that she must be Dragonborn, for the Greybeards summoned her. He told her she must go…seek them out at High Hrothgar. There was no choice in the matter.

And she agreed. At least topically.

For when she left Dragonsreach…when she left Whiterun, and she was left alone with only Onmund at her side, she collapsed to her knees and wept.

"I don't _want_ this, Onmund!" she cried out. "I can't…I can't do this!"

His face fell. How to comfort her…how to reassure her that things would be okay…?

He knelt down in front of her…took her hands away from her face. She looked terrified as the tears poured from her eyes. For the first time in the time he'd known her, she was broken. She was vulnerable, and he didn't know how to handle it.

"It'll be okay, Marieka," he said without thinking. "You…whatever happens…you will handle it. And I'll be here to help."

She looked up at him. "I can't ask you to be here through this. This isn't for you to bear."

"Come here," he said, wrapping his arms around her tightly. "It doesn't matter. I want to help. You _can_ do this alone…I have no fear of that. But you shouldn't have to."

Her arms found their way around his back and she gripped his robes in her fists. He could feel her shake – afraid to accept his offer, but not certain she could go on without him by her side.

So what else _could_ she do but accept his help?

When she finally loosened her grip on him, he stood up and offered her a hand up. She took it and he helped her get to her feet.

"Are you sure, Onmund? This journey…I don't think…it's not going to be easy," she said quietly.

"Of course I'm sure," he replied. "I will be there by your side the entire way." He reached out to wipe the tears from her cheeks and her mouth turned up slightly at the corners.

"Thank you," she said.

Onmund stopped for a moment on their journey towards the peak of the Throat of the World. Between her breakdown to this point, she had gained back all of her confidence…felt more positive about her potential role as Dragonborn. And when they reached the peak, the Greybeards would confirm it.

"Onmund?"

He looked up the path at her as she stood in the blowing wind and snow.

"Why have you stopped?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No reason. Just thinking…"

She smiled at him. "We're almost there."

He looked ahead and could see the monastery was now in sight. "Why, we must be near step six thousand, nine hundred!"

"I reckon you're correct, my friend," she replied.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"I think so," she replied. Her voice wavered a little. The uncertainty surprised even her for a moment. She reached her hand out to him, and he responded by closing the gap between them and taking it.

"_Now_ I'm ready," she said.

The two continued towards the monastery, hand-in-hand. If she was to be the Dragonborn, he could at least be there to support her. When they reached the grand doors of the home of the Greybeards, they exchanged a nervous glance with each other.

"You can do this," he said.

"With you here, Onmund, I believe it."


	2. Arngeir

**Dear lord I've been having serious insomnia over the past couple of weeks. And insomnia has also had me writing my arse off. So, here's a second chapter for my very first Skyrim fic. Yup. Already.**

**Bethesda owns it all...I just feel inspired and use my inability to sleep to put it down on paper...so to speak...**

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><p><em><strong>Arngeir<strong>_

He felt it every time a dragon was felled. The feeling could not be explained, but it was like loss and celebration all at once.

But this day…was different.

This day, the same feeling came and went. And seconds later…another feeling arrived. A feeling that he'd not felt in…too long.

Arngeir looked to his brethren. _So they had all felt it…_

They communed in the centre hall of High Hrothgar – did not exchange words. Merely glances. The Greybeards moved to exit their monastery to send out their request to the world.

As they stood near the peak of the Throat of the World, they faced outward. Towards the four corners of Skyrim. In a singular voice, they spoke.

"Dovahkiin…"

And the world trembled.

It was time. The Dragonborn had come.

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><p>As the days passed, Arngeir's pacing in the hall of High Hrothgar became more frantic. The Dovahkiin had not yet responded to the call of the Greybeards.<p>

This was _unheard_ of.

_No one_ refused the call.

The looks from his brethren reminded him that they would come. There were always challenges along the way. And they would feel if the Dovahkiin had passed from this world – so at the least of it all, the one they summoned still lived.

Still, Arngeir worried. There had not been a Dragonborn for so long. What if no one understood the call?

He returned to his quarters…meditation would help to put his mind at ease. He sat and waited. Thought of nothing. Hours passed.

Then suddenly, there came the sound of the main door of the monastery opening…its echo reverberating through the massive corridors.

He breathed deeply…unsure of what to expect when his eyes would fall upon their saviour.

He made his way back to the hall, where he came upon two figures. The first he saw, a man…hooded, stood off to the side. He eyed the man, who did not look up to meet his gaze.

The second was much smaller…also hooded. A woman. She stepped forward into a column of light that fell into the centre of the room. Removing her hood, he could see her more clearly. Her hair, matted with frozen drops of perspiration of a long journey and blown about by the winds that plagued the mountain, fell to her shoulders. Dark markings surrounded her eyes. She was certainly Breton…a mage perhaps? _Yes, a mage_, he thought as his eyes fell upon the staff she carried.

_The Dovahkiin was a mage…_

She _must_ have been the Dragonborn…no other would dare enter the hall – save for her companion, whose presence could be excused…for the journey she made was truly difficult.

"We believe you to be Dragonborn," he said as he stepped forward toward her.

She did not respond. Nor move.

"You will have acquired the gift of the voice. The voice of the dragon's tongue. And we wish for you to demonstrate this new talent to us."

She moved to open her mouth, but Arngeir raised a finger to her.

"You may wish for your friend to leave you for some time. He may not be prepared for any of this," he advised.

She turned to face the man and without a word, he nodded and turned to walk away. They remained still and silent until the last echo of the large door faded away.

"Now," he began, "what is your name, Breton?"

"Marieka."

"Marieka. We are the Greybeards. As you have responded to our summons, we can only assume that you believe yourself to be Dovahkiin," he stated.

She nodded. He sighed. She did not look the part. She looked more thief than mage. More child than woman. This was their saviour?

"We have summoned the Dovahkiin to confirm that what we felt less than a fortnight ago was correct. That someone absorbed the soul of a dragon that was slain near Whiterun. To confirm that the Dragonborn has at last returned to us. And to teach them," he said.

She again did not speak.

"Do you have no questions?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"Then let us see if you are indeed the one we have summoned," he said. "You may speak directly to us, if you can. We cannot be harmed by the Thu'um."

He could see her breathe in deeply. Her hands dangled at her side until she balled them up into fists to prepare. She had learned one word in the dragon's tongue.

"Fus," she whispered.

The one word was enough.

The force of her whisper was enough to throw back the fabric of the clothes that the four Greybeards wore. To knock items from shelves. To shake the building itself.

"Ah yes," Arngeir said. "Dovahkiin."

She stepped backward. She was uncertain that she had the ability – she had never attempted to speak the word she had gained knowledge of since the dragon had been slain outside of Whiterun. And the Greybeards had confirmed who she was – Dragonborn.

"Come, Marieka," he said. "You and I have much to discuss."

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><p>Arngeir and his brethren spent several hours with Marieka, teaching her the Way of the Voice…evaluating her abilities. As the time passed, his fears that she was not a suitable candidate for the shouts faded away. They were replaced by faith in her ability to learn quickly…to adapt…to perhaps even one day single-handedly take down a dragon. She did not look like much, but there was a strength within her that one could only discover over time.<p>

Perhaps this could be an asset to her – for who would ever see this young Breton as the Dovahkiin?

She would be safer that way. Her anonymity would be beneficial.

But it was time for her to leave them.

A final test for the Dragonborn. She would travel to Ustengrav…burial place of Jurgen Windcaller. She would retrieve the Horn of the man who founded the Greybeards. And when she returned, Arngeir would bestow upon her a powerful gift – the final word to her shout. She would learn it and use it well in her battles.

He had every faith now in the woman who stood before him. She arrived; nervous, yet refused to back down. Her stubbornness would serve her well. It would turn the tide for her.

He had sent Wulfgar to silently retrieve Marieka's companion from where he had since come inside to wait while they trained and evaluated her. As he approached her, he looked at her…hopeful. She smiled warmly at him before turning to nod to the Greybeards that stood observing her.

Arngeir dared to allow a smile to grace his own lips as she left. The mission he had sent her on would be dangerous. Yet he had absolutely no doubt that this would not be the last he would look upon the woman. Not the last, by far.


	3. Lydia

**I am more than a bit excited at the interest people have been paying to this story. I am truly grateful for reviews and faves and story alerts. And if you're concerned about leaving a review that others can read, please feel free to message me – I'd love to hear what you have to say about these.**

**[insert standard disclaimer here]**

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><p><em><strong>Lydia<strong>_

Returning to the barracks in Whiterun was the _only_ thing on her mind. It had been an extremely long day in the Dragonsreach Dungeon. In fact, if there were a post she hated more than the dungeons, Lydia would be hard pressed to find it. She'd even heard that some of the city guard had been sent to the Western Watchtower to assist in slaying a dragon there early in the day.

How would she _ever_ make her mark in this city if she were stuck in the dungeons while dragons were flying about in need of killing?

It wasn't fair. Her talents were being wasted…stifled in the guard. She was ready to go off on some adventure…to prove herself worthy of something more. To be better than a simple guard…a nameless sentinel of Whiterun.

"Oye! Soldier!"

She spun round towards the source of the shout. A fellow soldier stood there – her point exactly. Who knew who this nameless dragon fodder was that stood before her?

"Do you address me?" she asked.

"I don't see anyone else around. You are Lydia, no?" the man replied.

She nodded.

"Good. Haven't got time to keep chasing you around. The Jarl's steward has called for you to attend him. Immediately."

Without another word, the man left her standing there.

The steward spoke for the Jarl. _What in the name of Talos could Proventus be summoning me for?_

Despite wanting nothing more for her feet to find their way straight to her bed, she headed back out towards Dragonsreach. She would see to the steward as requested. To deny the request would be to sully her name in the court of the Jarl forever. Nords had long memories. If she ever wanted to find herself out of this gods-forsaken city, she'd do all she could to help that along.

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><p>"Steward," the guard began, "the soldier you summoned has arrived."<p>

Lydia stopped looking at her feet and threw her shoulders back to stand tall and proud.

"Ah yes," Proventus said. "I thank you for coming so quickly, Lydia."

"Of course," she said, nodding.

"It is sometimes difficult to find you soldiers…running about through the city. And so many of you look the same in that armour. Can't tell the women from the men some days," he mused, waving his hand about for emphasis. "But I digress. I suppose you are not here to listen to me talk about such things."

She didn't move – only stood expectantly.

"I will get to the point. Jarl Balgruuf has appointed a new Thane to the court. We have already made arrangements for the Thane to reside at Breezehome, and she will require a housecarl. That, my dear, is where you come in," he said.

Lydia was stunned; her silence maintained. A housecarl? A…babysitter for the new Thane? How…how could this have happened? What had she done to deserve such a role? She'd _never_ get out of this city now. Yet, she couldn't say no. It was the first time the Jarl had ever recognized her…even if it were only through his steward. She suppressed a sigh in her throat and forced a smile to her lips.

"I…uh…thank you Steward Avenicci," she said, nearly choking on the words. "It would be…an honour to serve the court in this way."

He smiled at her warmly. "Please see to the Jarl's housecarl, Irileth. She will provide you with instructions on how to serve your Thane. Oh, and here…" He held out his hand and dropped a key into hers. "This is your key to Breezehome. The Thane will be away for some time, but will be returning as soon as possible with her belongings. You will like her."

_Doubtful…_

"Thank you Steward," she replied quietly.

When the man had left her, she threw her shield on the ground and herself on a nearby stone bench. None of this was what she wanted. To be stuck in Whiterun in the confines of some small home of the Thane? Forced to be a bootlicker for the rest of her days? She didn't even know who the new Thane was! This was going to be a disaster. _Nothing_ good would come from this.

She leaned her head back against the cold stone wall, squeezing her eyes shut. This day had gone from bad to worse before she could even reconcile what had happened with herself. She sighed loudly, only opening her eyes as she heard footsteps coming towards her.

From around the corner, the Jarl's housecarl appeared. Lydia didn't want to let the news of her appointment sink in, and so wasn't sure of whether or not she was ready for this conversation to come.

"Good eve', Lydia," Irileth said. "I was told I might find you here. Something you'd like to discuss?"

Lydia rubbed at her forehead before turning to face the Dunmer. "Nothing more than what we are meant to discuss."

Irileth nodded to her, but her face did not change. She was almost intimidated by the woman – her cold, dark eyes boring holes into the Nord's soul.

"This is an important job you have been assigned," Irileth said. "The Thane is an important part of the Jarl's court. You are to defend her with your life. You will guard her and follow her when she needs you. And you will tend to her home in Whiterun when she does not."

Lydia swallowed hard. This was not a job she looked forward to. The Dunmer explained the nuances of the job; how to address the Thane, where to stand, what to wear. All things that she found incredibly boring and useless, but would be integral to her duty as guardian of the new Thane.

When the instruction finally ended, Irileth asked if she had questions that had not yet been answered.

"Yes," Lydia replied. "Just who exactly _is_ the Thane?"

"She is a mage from the College of Winterhold," the elf replied. "A Breton. She is not what I expected, that is to be sure."

Lydia nodded, groaning internally. Just what she needed. To wipe the arse of a milk drinker from the College. She departed from Dragonsreach, bidding Irileth goodbye in haste. She would wait at Breezehome for her new…_master_.

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><p>Several days had passed since Lydia was given her new assignment; yet the woman whom she was to guard had still not shown up in Whiterun. It was not as though she cared one way or another. If the woman did not show, she would be reassigned to something else. Probably the dungeons again. At least there was a chance of some excitement there. An attempted breakout of some desperate prisoner perhaps.<p>

If the Thane showed up at all, what was the worst she could see? An assassination attempt? Ha! The clans in Whiterun were too busy squabbling with each other to even care about taking out a new Thane.

As she sat alone in the small room containing a single bed meant for her – as someone with a title such as Thane was obviously meant for the larger room…with the larger bed – she heard a clatter in the lower level of the home. Was someone trying to break in? Finally! Was this the excitement she craved?

She grabbed her steel sword and shield, ready to ward off would-be intruders to the home and made her way downstairs. Halfway down the stairs, the front door opened, revealing two hooded individuals carrying a great deal of…well, she didn't know. What did mages tend to carry with them as they traveled?

A man stepped in first – stopping immediately in shock.

"Who…are you?" he asked, visibly on edge over her appearance.

"I could ask you the same thing," she replied, her hand on the hilt of her sword.

A smaller woman stepped forward, putting her hand gently on the man's arm.

"Easy, Onmund," the woman said quietly. "The Steward advised someone would be here when we arrived, remember?"

He relaxed slightly as she stepped forward to greet Lydia. She approached her, nodding slightly. "You must be who the Steward referred to. The…housecarl?"

"Yes," Lydia replied, eyeing the woman carefully. She was not what she expected at all. Small…seemingly polite…in no way a noblewoman…barely a mage…more like someone you'd pass on the street and never recall again. The perfect thief…or assassin…someone used to hiding in the shadows. "Let me assist you with your things."

"No, no," she said. "We can certainly bring this all in and get settled. Besides, I don't even know your name."

"Lydia."

"It is…good to meet you, Lydia," the woman said with a smile. "This is my traveling companion…no, my friend…Onmund." She motioned towards the man who stood beside her. "And my name is Marieka. We are both mages from the College—"

"At Winterhold," Lydia finished for her. "Yes, I was advised of where you had come from."

"Lydia, where can we bring our things?" Onmund asked.

"Upstairs," she replied. "There is a large bedroom that the Thane will be staying in."

He nodded his thanks. "Marieka, here. Let me take this from you," he said, reaching for her satchel and bags. She handed them over to him, and he left the two women alone to head upstairs.

Marieka took a deep breath and spun around slowly, taking in her surroundings. She looked overwhelmed at the size of the home in which she stood.

"I…can't believe this. This is mine," she said, though not directly to Lydia. The other woman stood by, waiting for…_something_ to happen. Marieka looked at her and smiled. "I'm not really certain of how this works."

"What do you wish to know?" Lydia asked.

"Well," she began, "for starters, I really have no idea what a Thane does. Or even what a housecarl is. I mean, why are you here? Not that I don't appreciate it." She looked down nervously. "I'm sorry. That must have sounded terrible."

Lydia relaxed slightly. For the first time, she felt a bit more comfortable around this mage…this…Thane. "Do not worry. This is a first for both of us. I've never been housecarl to a Thane before. Or to anyone, for that matter."

"I suppose we shall learn together then," she replied.

"Yes, I suppose so," the warrior said. "As a Thane, you will be held in high esteem by the Court of the Jarl. He will look to his Court for advice and will trust your opinion. And as your housecarl, I am sworn to be your shield and defend you with my life. I will also assist you in carrying your belongings in your travels, should you need me."

"Oh, I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that," she said.

Lydia looked at her, confused at the statement. "I'm not sure what you mean, my Thane."

"Oh…I'm _also_ not sure if I'm comfortable with _that_," Marieka said. "Titles, and being guarded…and followed around like I can't do things for myself. I'd much rather have a traveling companion. A friend."

Lydia cocked her head for a moment. She had begun to appreciate this woman more than she thought she ever would. Perhaps this Breton woman from the College of Winterhold would be stronger than she expected. A more interesting companion. A friend.

"I…hope it is not too forward of me to ask this of you, my Thane," Lydia said.

"Please…just…call me Marieka," she replied. "And of course. You may ask me anything."

"How is it that a mage of the College…a Breton that is obviously not a native of Skyrim, let alone Whiterun…how is it that you have become the Thane of our city?"

Marieka stood for a moment, pondering the woman's question. "Well now…I suspect it had something to do with when we slew the dragon at the Western Watchtower."

"You were there?" Lydia was more than surprised at the revelation.

She nodded. "Onmund and I both. Terrifying, yet not the first dragon I'd seen. I escaped from Helgen some time ago…when the dragon attacked the keep. In our time traveling together, we've come across others, though none that had attacked us. At least, not yet."

"You sound as though you've had some luck in your travels," Lydia suggested.

"That we have," Marieka replied. "Among other things…"

"I'm not sure what you're referring to…but…" she started, before shaking her head. "Never mind. So…where have you been in this past number of days?"

"I was summoned to High Hrothgar," she said. "To meet with the Greybeards…"

"But…they are said to speak only to those who are…"

Lydia took a step back. Marieka nodded.

"Yes…Dragonborn," she replied.

"You? You are Dragonborn?"

"So I am told," Marieka said, a strange sadness in her expression.

The housecarl fell back into an awaiting chair behind her. She looked up at the woman…the Dragonborn. This job…this assignment…was no longer predictable. There was nothing about the future that she would be able to assume. She was housecarl to the Thane of Whiterun. The Dragonborn of Skyrim.

_Apparently_, Lydia thought, _I should be careful what I wish for…_


	4. Brynjolf

**I wasn't going to fall for the wiles of Brynjolf…I just wasn't. But then the sexy bastard called my character lass. And _kept _calling her lass. It's hopeless now, and I've got to write him in to this story – even more so than I think he's intended to be a part of the game. Enjoy!**

**[insert standard disclaimer here]**

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><p><em><strong>Brynjolf<strong>_

Despite the guards keeping so many potential visitors to Riften out of the city, some folk managed to slip through the gates – be it the jingle of gold, an iron fist or a honeyed tongue, there were ways to make the guards look the other way as one slipped in. It was only mildly surprising then, that the city was so busy some nights.

And where would visitors flock to on their first night in the small settlement, but the local tavern – The Bee and Barb. It was as good a place as any for Brynjolf to stake claim to the pockets of the newcomers. His guild…the Thieves Guild…was in a hard way – anything extra he could conveniently slip from the pouch of an unsuspecting visitor and into his own could do nothing but help. Financially, and as a reminder of who ran the show.

He typically found a shady corner in the tavern – and of that, there were many – and observed.

He watched those that were regulars enter…find their usual spots…and drink their sorrows away for the night. They were easy picking by the end of their tenure in the tavern – it was just a matter of helping them out of the door as they swayed uneasily on their intoxicated feet. Or perhaps a quick nudge, followed by an "Oh, pardon me, lad…didn't see you there…". They never failed to resurface the next night, back for more mead to forget their troubles.

And there were his fellow guild members as well. They'd come and go, looking to slip a hand into a robe pocket…or to cut the purse strings of a passerby. Amateurs.

But it was always the newcomers who were the most satisfying. With little knowledge of the guild's presence in the tavern – and sometimes even the city itself – there was any number of ways that a thief as gifted as Brynjolf could swindle a newcomer out of something they probably forgot they even carried. A friendly drink with a fellow Nord traveller was one way. Sweet talking his way into the bed of a young lass for the night was another. The latter was rather one of his favourites.

He leaned back in his chair, a bottle of mead in hand, and watched. This night was unfortunately slim of opportunities for fishing it seemed. A few regulars, but they gathered in small groups. It was often more difficult to get one of them alone when they were fully intoxicated. He prepared himself to be resigned to the fact that this night would be suitable merely for a couple of drinks, and then home to bed – pockets empty.

That was, until the tavern door opened revealing the most beautiful sight he had ever seen – two young women…ripe for the picking. Why, it looked as though he might even be able to bed one or the other…both if he played his cards right. And he'd not complain for one moment while he did.

He eyed them both carefully. The first, obviously a Nord by her stature, carried a sword and shield. She'd likely give him more trouble, though a few well-placed compliments could turn the tide in his direction. The other was small – obviously no Nord - but until she removed her hood, he'd had no idea she was Breton. They had several packs with them – they'd easily be missed when they turned their backs. The women both scanned the room before choosing a table off to the side of the tavern; darkly lit, away from others…perfect. Suddenly, Brynjolf had a good feeling that he'd not be leaving this night empty handed after all.

As the Nord settled at the table, the Breton headed across the room towards the bar, where Keerava, the tavern's Argonian innkeeper sold her food and drink. She walked gracefully without the weight of all her baggage. He hadn't realized how closely he'd been looking at her until she turned around with several bottles of mead in hand and caught him doing so. She quickly turned away when their eyes met, but the seed had been planted. Brynjolf would certainly have the young lass that night.

When she reached her table and sat down, he was slightly relieved that the other woman had chosen the chair facing him – for the Breton would be suspicious had she caught him eyeing her again. As the two clanged their bottles together, Brynjolf noticed a familiar face at a table beyond them. It was Sapphire, one of his fellow guild members. She was fixated on the two women as well, but he caught her eye and shook his head at her. She frowned, knowing that these targets belonged to him that night and she'd be forced to back off and look elsewhere.

Several rounds of mead later, the women still sat at their table, chatting and laughing together. A couple of Nords from across the room had pulled up to the table next to them; constantly trying to get their attention. Yet the women ignored them as best they could. They were attractive enough – it was likely they were harassed in this manner whenever they found themselves in a tavern such as this.

The Nord woman stood up, conferred with her friend for a moment and then headed towards the counter once more. He noticed Sapphire was still in the room and nodded to her, indicating that she was welcome to try her luck with the warrior. She smiled slyly and sauntered over to the woman at the bar. Knowing Sapphire, she'd chat the woman up – successfully as she always did – leaving the Breton helpless and alone…ready to be preyed upon.

Brynjolf took a gulp of his mead, finishing off the bottle and stood ready to approach the young woman across the room. As he took his first step, he watched her carefully as she slid her chair out slightly to have a look on the shelf next to her. And damn if she didn't reach for something on the shelf and quickly slide it under the table, ready to pocket it without anyone being the wiser. He smiled. Perhaps this one would be more difficult to get to than he suspected.

Just as he was about to walk up to her, the drunken boor at the table next to her slithered his chair close to hers as his mates goaded him on. He saw the man say something to her, his hand sliding up on to her upper thigh, making its way over to slip in between her legs. In an instant, the flash of a blade caught his eye as it was drawn across the man's throat, a whisper away from slicing it open. Her other hand hovered above the table and was pointed in the direction of the other two men, sparks flickering off her palm and dancing through her fingers. Brynjolf raised an eyebrow as the man closest to her immediately released her leg and backed away. _A mage at that…_

As he continued over to her table stealthily, he saw her sheathe the weapon in her hand, and the sparks faded away. When he was nearly beside her, he stopped.

"Boys giving you trouble, lass?"

She jumped in her seat, startled at the voice behind her. She spun around and looked up at him, her dark eyes surrounded by the markings on her face. He stepped towards the empty chair that her companion had vacated and slipped into it; all the while, her suspicious eyes never left him.

"That chair is taken," she spat, obviously annoyed by his presence. "My friend will be—"

"Your friend," he began, interrupting her, "seems to be a wee bit busy at the moment." He nodded in the direction of the bar, where Sapphire stood close to the Nord, her fingers softly running down the woman's cheek.

She sighed. "I guess I'll be getting the next round after all."

He smiled at her and stood up, turning towards the men who had pestered her those few moments prior. He reached down and grabbed four bottles of mead that they had stockpiled at their table.

"Consider it payment for the harassment," he growled at them, and they said nothing when he turned away from them and returned to his seat.

Something flickered in her eye as she looked at him. The faintest of smiles ghosted upon her lips briefly.

"Here, lass," he said, handing her a bottle. "You shan't miss out on some good mead because your friend has...better things to do."

"Thank you," she said quietly, sipping the mead. She breathed a deep breath and looked back towards her friend.

"No need to look so wistful, lass," he said.

"Why do you keep calling me that?" she asked.

"Because that's what you are," he replied. "Well, that and I don't know your name."

"Ah," she replied. "Marieka." She stuck her hand out across the table to shake his. But he did not shake her hand – instead, he took it and brought it up to meet his lips, kissing the tops of her fingers softly.

"Marieka. A beautiful name for a beautiful lass."

Her cheeks tinged red as she pulled her hand back the second he released it.

"I…" she began, unable to finish her thought. Instead, she brought the bottle to her lips and gulped hard. "And you are…?"

"My name is Brynjolf," he replied with a smile.

"Well then Brynjolf. Exactly what is it that you are bothering me for?" she asked.

Mockingly, he placed his hand over his heart and threw his head back. "The lass wounds me!"

When he looked back at her, she was not amused.

"You're a tough nut to crack, lass."

Again she turned in the direction of her companion.

"I hope I have not offended," he said. "I'll not lie to you. I had every intention of robbing you blind this eve."

_Well…that certainly got her attention…_

She slowly turned her head back to face him, her eyes narrowing at him. "Is that so?"

"It is," he replied. "You see, it's one of my talents."

"Oh?" she smirked. "And how are you at having your throat slit?" He saw her reaching for the dagger at her waist once more and grabbed her arm tightly.

"Now, lass…let's not fight. After all, I said I _had_ every intention. I no longer do," he said.

She relaxed slightly and he released her arm. "What changed your mind?"

"One of my other talents is being able to recognize when another has my first talent," he replied. "And you, my dear, just may."

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"I have…a bit of a job that I'd like to throw your way," he said. "Test the waters, so to speak. Interested?"

"I'm listening…"

He explained to her the details of the job through gulps of mead. It was simple enough – break into a lockbox and steal a ring. In the market. In the middle of the day.

He saw her hesitation initially. "Don't worry lass…I'll be providing a distraction to keep everyone's eyes on me and off of you."

She swallowed hard and sat motionless for a moment. She looked back up at him after some time had passed. "Agreed."

"Good…very good," he said. "Meet me in the market tomorrow during the day. Once you've shown up, you'll complete your task, and we'll move on from there."

She nodded.

He got to his feet and pushed the chair back in to the table.

"You're leaving?" she asked.

"Ah, _now_ you're interested in having me stay?" he teased her. "Yes, lass…I'm leaving. But I'll see you tomorrow in the market. Don't forget."

"I won't," she said, as something of a grin crossed her face.

"And perhaps when you're done with that, I can give you a demonstration of another one of my talents," he said slyly. "Coincidentally, something else I had fully intended doing to you tonight."

As her jaw dropped, he turned around and continued on his way with a smile. His assessment was right earlier in the evening – he'd not be going home empty handed with this one...


	5. Mirabelle Ervine

**I happen to really like Mirabelle. Her limited role (the same as many others) was disappointing. I certainly hope I've done her justice in this.**

**A few liberties have been taken with this chapter. So there may be some elements that you think were key to certain quests that have been modified. I hope if that's the case, you can put aside what you believe is canon to the quests, and just enjoy my interpretation of it all.**

**And yes. The College got attacked by a Blood Dragon the moment I stepped outside to fight the anomalies in Winterhold. Is this part of the quest? I don't know. Probably just my bad luck.**

**Anyhow…on with the show…**

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><p><em><strong>Mirabelle Ervine<strong>_

The Hall of the Elements was typically a place of learning at the College of Winterhold. A peaceful place for lectures by Tolfdir and quiet instruction on the nuances of the restoration magics by Colette. Yet now, it was all but defiled. Some would say that Tolfdir's expedition to Saarthal was successful; bringing with it the discovery of an incredible artifact full of energy and light. Though, whose bright idea it was to transport the large floating orb – the Eye of Magnus – to the middle of the Hall of Elements, Mirabelle didn't know. She certainly would give them a piece of her mind once she discovered who they were.

Aside from the fact that Tolfdir had done nothing but stare at it for days since it was brought there – rendering him more useless than usual – it gave her a bad feeling. There was something about it that needed _taking care of_. Exactly the reason why the Arch-Mage Savos Aren sent one of the College's newest apprentices off to seek out the Staff of Magnus from the ruins of Mzulft, she supposed. Except that Marieka had been gone for months now. She had _no_ idea what the girl had been doing. And she'd brought another apprentice, Onmund, with her. If the two had somehow found trouble at the ruins and perished, she'd never have forgiven herself.

But if the girl was traipsing halfway across Skyrim, taking her sweet time in hunting for the staff…why, she'd kill the bloody mage herself.

The girl had better return to the College as soon as those little Breton legs of hers could carry her – they needed her. Well, they needed that staff. For it was not just Tolfdir who had become obsessed with the Eye…that damned Altmer Ancano had barricaded himself in the centre of the great hall, drawing more magic from the Eye as every second passed.

She stared at the Mer through the gate, watching as he all but merged with the great sphere.

"Still no response from him then?"

Mirabelle turned to see Savos entering the hall from the direction of his quarters. She shook her head. "No. He will not respond to me. He won't even look in my direction," she growled. "We must get in there, Savos. This _cannot_ wait for the apprentice."

"Without the staff," he replied, "I'm not certain what we can accomplish."

She shook her head again, disappointed. They should _not_ be held hostage to this man. It was _their_ College…they would have to reclaim it.

Just as she was about to open her mouth to scold the Arch-Mage's resistance, the great doors to the hall opened, accompanied by a massive gust of wind, blowing snow and crystals of ice towards them. She pulled her robes tightly against her, turning to face those who entered.

"Marieka! Onmund!" Savos exclaimed. "You've returned to us!"

"By the Nine, girl! Where have you been?" Mirabelle shouted.

Marieka was on the verge of replying when Savos jumped between the two women. "We can discuss your whereabouts later. Where is the Staff? Do you have it?"

The apprentice looked down and shook her head.

"What do you mean you don't have it?" Mirabelle questioned. "You've been gone for _months_! Where is the Staff?"

"Now, hold on a moment," Onmund said, jumping to her defense. He stepped forward defiantly in front of Mirabelle, but Marieka gently pulled him back.

"Onmund…it's fine," she said quietly, yet her demeanour changed when she turned back to the woman. "We spent days in Mzulft. That ruin was full to the brim with Dwemer machinations and traps. Oh, and a Chaurus. Or twenty. I lost count after the first two of them we battled. Have you ever _seen_ a Chaurus, Mirabelle? And I don't mean in a book. I mean up close and personal. Where you feel their poison hit you and you want to rip the skin from your own bones to get rid of the agony you feel?"

"Point taken, Marieka," she replied, narrowing her eyes at the younger mage. "You've faced insurmountable odds and come out on top. Yet, without the Staff. So what happened?"

She sighed loudly, obviously annoyed by Mirabelle's insistence. "We eventually found a member of the Synod…the group of mages that you advised me to seek out. Paramus?" She paused for a moment to check for recognition of the man's name, but seeing none, continued. "I'm quite certain he was driven mad on account of being so isolated in the ruins and surrounded by the clawing and sounds of death. At least judging by the Falmer dead that littered the entire route to where he hid. He was not happy to see us…at least until we advised him we had exactly what he'd been waiting for – a focusing crystal. He needed it for his research in the…" She looked at Onmund for a moment.

"Oculory," he offered.

"Yes," she continued. "The Oculory. Without going into too many more details, he advised us that a tremendous amount of interference was preventing him from coming up with clear results. Interference that I could only assume came from the Eye."

She peeked past the two senior mages into the main hall where the Eye was and noticed Ancano standing in front of it, energy passing between his and the orb.

"What in Oblivion is Ancano _doing _in there?" she exclaimed.

"This is _exactly_ why we've been so anxious for your return, Marieka," Mirabelle said through her teeth. "But we must know where the Staff is."

"Ah, of course," she replied. "Paramus advised us it is at Labyrinthian."

Mirabelle turned towards Savos. "Labyrinthian? But isn't that—"

"Perhaps we shouldn't be concerned with the Staff at the moment," Savos said. She and Marieka noticed he was suddenly acting more than suspicious. Yet neither questioned him. "We must get in there and stop Ancano."

"Are you sure, Savos?" she asked. "You just mentioned that you didn't know what we could do without the assistance of the Staff."

"Let us try, Mirabelle."

She nodded. "He has placed a ward, yet the two of us have not yet been able to break through it alone. Perhaps with your help, Marieka…"

The young mage nodded and stood waiting for their signal.

With the forces of lightning and ice, Savos and Mirabelle aimed their magic at the gate, prompting Marieka to join in with a third element – flame. The three elemental energies combined and overwhelmed the ward on the gate, shattering into thousands of pieces and allowing them access to face Ancano's treachery.

The four mages entered the hall, Onmund holding Marieka back slightly.

"Ancano!" Savos cried out, his voice thundering like few had heard before. "Release your hold on this power!"

The Altmer glanced at the Arch-Mage, but only momentarily. He didn't move and continued whatever it was that he was doing.

"You leave us no choice," Savos said sadly, before throwing a powerful bolt of lightning at the Mer. Mirabelle followed suit, attempting to send a spike of ice at the elf. But before her magic hit the mark, an explosion of energy engulfed the room, throwing all of them backwards with such force that they were knocked unconscious.

* * *

><p>Her eyes opened. Slowly.<p>

Fingers on cold stone. Ringing in her ears…or…no. It was the ringing of the sphere…the gods-damned Eye that still hovered in the Hall. And Ancano…still standing in front of it.

Mirabelle moved to sit up, immediately grasping at her abdomen. She squeezed her eyes shut; the pain was just too much. She remembered…briefly…the explosion of energy. The sphere responded to their magic with a burst outwards. She was thrown backwards, spun in mid-air, and evidently crashed stomach first into one of the great stone pillars that supported the Hall of the Elements great expanse. There must have been broken bones somewhere. Where was Colette when she needed her most?

"Ungh," she groaned, continuing her attempts to raise herself up to lean against the very pillar that likely caused her so much agony.

"Mirabelle?" came a whisper.

"Marieka? Is that you?" she replied weakly.

The young mage crawled over to her from behind the pillar she leaned on.

"What…what happened?" she asked, bewildered.

"The Eye," she replied. "The Eye has powers we do not understand. Go…you must find Savos. He will know what to do. I cannot move."

Stumbling a little, Marieka managed to get to her feet. "I will hurry back as soon as I can."

As the girl and presumably Onmund left her – as she could see no one else but Ancano in the Hall – she glared at the Mer. It was he…he who had caused so much of this trouble. It did not matter that Marieka had actually found the sphere…or that someone else – probably Savos – had decided to have it brought to the College. No, Ancano had exacerbated the situation by…performing this ritual of his upon it. He would see justice, that was certain. She would make sure of it.

Her eyes closed briefly, yet she had no idea how much time had passed when she opened them again. All she knew was that Collette stood in front of her, staring in awe at the sight of Ancano connected with the sphere through some sort of magic she'd not seen before.

"Collette," she murmured.

The woman turned to her quickly. "Mirabelle! I was afraid you'd succumb to your injuries. You didn't come to when I attempted to heal you. But…here you are."

Her voice wavered. She angrily wiped away a tear on her cheek.

"Collette, what has happened? Where's Savos?" she asked.

Collette shook her head sadly.

Mirabelle felt herself tremble. She looked down at her hands which had begun to shake. She clenched her fists tightly and squeezed her eyes shut, as tears welled over.

"The young mages," she whispered hoarsely. "Where are they?"

"They've gone to Winterhold. To protect the people of the town. The sphere…it…something came from it. I don't know what."

"It's too powerful for the apprentices! They'll be killed," she exclaimed.

The healer shook her head. "Faralda and Arniel have gone with them. They'll come back…I feel it. Let me help you up."

Mirabelle shook her head vigorously. "No! My—" She felt her abdomen and chest, but the pain had subsided a little. Enough to move. "Did you? Did you fix this?"

She nodded. "Let's get away from this orb before it does something else unexpected," Collette wisely suggested.

The two women hurried out of the Hall of the Elements and into the College's courtyard. The winds were furious; the snow blinding. She held her hand up to her face to shield it from the snow and could make out the outline of a huge skeleton lying in the middle of the courtyard. A…dragon? Here? She breathed a sigh of relief as she reminded herself that it was merely the beast's skeletal remains and the women continued on. They turned to head towards the Hall of Attainment to shelter from the elements and rest until the apprentices returned. As they reached the door, she saw Marieka out of the corner of her eye and beckoned her over. She and Onmund followed the two into the Hall and to her quarters.

Mirabelle fell down on to her bed and Collette sat in a chair in the corner. "What happened out there?"

"Bursts of energy," Marieka answered. "From the Eye, no doubt. But not nearly as powerful as the blast we felt. Onmund and I were able to help Arniel and Faralda contain the threat. They remained in the town to seek out survivors…see if their help was needed any further. I didn't see any townsfolk injured."

"Finally," she said, "some good news."

"What do you mean?" the young Breton asked.

"Savos. Savos is dead."

Collette shifted uncomfortably in the corner as Onmund and Marieka looked at each other.

"How?" he asked, stunned. "How did we all survive, yet he…?"

Mirabelle shook her head sadly. "I do not know. And I do not know how we will stop Ancano."

"The Staff," Marieka said suddenly. "I will go to Labyrinthian to retrieve it."

"You? You would do this?"

"You said yourself, Mirabelle. I was gone for far too long. It is my fault Savos is dead. It is only right that I retrieve the Staff," she said, looking down. "What else can I do but retrieve it?"

Mirabelle didn't mean for this. She didn't mean for the girl to blame herself for the Arch-Mage's death.

"No, my girl. This is Ancano's doing. But you can stop him by finding the Staff," she said. She got up off the bed and went over to a small dresser. Digging through one of the drawers, she pulled out a heavy looking object. It was shaped as a horseshoe and covered in intricate carvings. "Savos gave this to me long ago. He told me that when the time came, I would know what to do with it. And so I give this to you. It will let you into places you will need to go."

She placed the item into Marieka's hand, and as the young woman pulled her hand away, something caught Mirabelle's eye. She snatched her hand and turned it palm down; displaying a small gold ring on her finger. _That_ finger.

"Are you…_married_?" She looked at Onmund's left hand now, noticing a matching ring. "You two? You're married? _This_ is what you've been doing all these months?"

"Mirabelle, it's not what you think," Marieka protested.

"How can it _not_ be what I think?" the woman spat. "You and him…off gallivanting gods know where, while we sit and wait in the shadow of Ancano's deceit?"

Onmund stepped up again. "Now you listen, Mirabelle. You have absolutely no idea what Marieka has gone through. What we've _both_ gone through. Yes, we stopped for a moment to be married under the gaze of Mara, but by the Nine! She deserves it! You've been sheltered up here at the College for so long that you don't even know what's out there. We could die at any moment…doesn't she deserve to have someone by her side? _Some_ sort of happiness?" He grabbed her hand defiantly and held on to it tightly.

"And you're just the mage to give it to her, are you Onmund?"

Mirabelle turned away from them, ready to walk out of her room angrily. She was impeded by the appearance of Tolfdir in the doorway.

"Out of my way, old man," she growled.

"Actually Mirabelle," he replied in his quiet manner, "you may just want to stay to hear this."

She backed up and allowed him entry. He approached Marieka and stood in front of her, taking her hands as Onmund let go of the one he held.

"I saw what happened in the courtyard, Marieka," he said, looking into her eyes. "The dragon…you…absorbed its soul."

Mirabelle's attention was now focused solely on the old man's words.

"You are Dragonborn."

Her eyes were drawn in the direction of the older woman for a moment, and then returned to Tolfdir`s. She nodded slowly. "I am."

"What?" Mirabelle exclaimed. "You? Dragonborn? How did this…?"

She shook her head. "It is _also_ what kept me from returning to the College in a more…timely manner. I am sorry Mirabelle. I never meant for my delays to cause harm to you. To the Arch-Mage." If it were possible, the small woman shrunk even smaller, saddened by the most recent developments. "I never asked for this. I didn't want this Mirabelle. I only wanted to study magic. To have a friend or two I could count on. I don't want to be a saviour. To be the only one that can…protect this land from its demons…"

Silence held the room after the echo of her words died. She squeezed the key to Labyrinthian in her hand and rushed out of the room past Tolfdir and Mirabelle. Onmund looked at the faces of the others; the old man's being the most apologetic. He hurried after her until Mirabelle grabbed his arm and stopped him. He looked back at her; anger upon his face.

"Please," she said, her expression pained. "I didn't…I didn't know. Please ask her to forgive me…"

Tolfdir looked at the woman, placing a sympathetic hand upon her shoulder. She released Onmund's arm and he left to chase after his wife.

"She'll come around," the old man said. She nodded sadly, uncertain of whether his words rang true.

* * *

><p>As the days passed slowly and Marieka had not yet returned, Mirabelle – now the senior mage at the College – was forced to make a decision. Ancano's power was becoming too great – the Eye's influence had grown. The College would have to be evacuated.<p>

"Tolfdir," she instructed the old mage, "you must get everyone away from the College. Get them to Winterhold. I will hold him; prevent that bastard Ancano from figuring out what you're doing. He'll not get to you."

"Mirabelle," he said sadly. "You can't do this. You can't sacrifice yourself to him. We can help you."

"There is no other way," she said. "You are too weak, old man. Your magic will never stand up to the power of that bloody Eye."

He chuckled at her. "Even now, you insult me, my girl."

"Yes," she replied, smiling weakly at him. "Even now. Now go…"

He embraced her momentarily, before turning to head off to gather the mages of the College.

"And Tolfdir?"

"Yes Mirabelle?" he replied without turning to face her.

"Tell her I'm sorry. Let her know that I'm proud of what she's accomplished. And that I believe in her. I can't think of a more appropriate person to be called Dragonborn."

She saw him nod slowly. "She'll know."

He continued on.

She shed a tear. The last she'd ever shed.


	6. Brynjolf II

**It would seem that everyone recognizes Brynjolf is an excellent thief, but cannot imagine how as his thief-related skills are severely lacking. This seems to be an ongoing joke , albeit unintentional.**

**It would also seem that Brynjolf does not want to vacate the premises known as my mind at the moment, so my apologies...you'll have to sit through one more chapter with him after this before I move on to another.**

**Also, I apologize for the change in rating for upcoming chapters. We will see some 'M' stuff going on. I'd rather not change the entire story's rating above 'T' because it's not going to permeate through the whole story. And I will make it explicit and obvious whenever there is an 'M' chapter. Deal?**

**While I do typically swear like a trucker, and it often comes through in my stories, smut is another thing. Oh the awkwardness that comes from trying to name the various bits and bobs of the male and female anatomies. I just…don't do that. It's against my nature. Oh, I can be smexi…it's just all disturbing to me when I try to write about it. So things are going to happen. It might get weird. I can't promise it'll be good or bad. You've been warned.**

**This chapter in particular only has a wee bit of language...nothing to over the top otherwise.**

**Oh yes...[insert standard disclaimer here]**

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><p><em><strong>Brynjolf II<strong>_

"Would you stop pacing?" Dirge growled. "You're driving me mad."

Brynjolf halted his steps for a moment, looked at the Imperial and scowled at him. He then immediately returned to his pacing, ignoring the man's request.

"Well, can you at least go _somewhere else_ and pace?"

"Gods damn you, Dirge!" He swiped a dagger from a nearby table and whipped it at the man's feet.

"You missed," Dirge smirked.

"No. I didn't," Brynjolf replied and trudged off to the cistern.

There, he at least found a number of his fellow thieves that were busy doing something other than watching him. Most of them, anyway.

The exception, as usual, was the leader of the Guild, Mercer Frey. No matter how engrossed the man ever managed to become in whatever he was involved with, he never failed to sense when Brynjolf was…unsettled.

"What's the problem now?"

The Nord eased on to a stool near the counter Mercer stood behind. He leaned forward, lowering his head into his hand.

"It's nothing, Mercer," he replied. "Just thinking about…job that I…"

"Brynjolf, you're not even speaking in full sentences. Please. Tell me this is _not_ about the Breton."

He looked up at the man and sighed. "Of course not."

"I have no idea how you're so successful as a thief, because you are a _terrible_ liar," Mercer said.

His face displayed resignation. "Fine. So it's about the Breton. I was positive that one had…something."

"Oh, she had something, all right. Your balls in her grip, apparently," Mercer quipped.

Brynjolf narrowed his eyes at the man. "Fuck off, Mercer."

He chuckled. "She probably just found someone better to do. Oh, did I say someone? I meant something."

"Remind me why I bother talking to you again," Brynjolf mumbled. He stood up and began to walk away.

"Look…Brynjolf…I don't know if this has anything to do with anything, but rumour has it that there's a new Thane in Riften. Not from around here either. Did some messing around with one or two of the Skooma dealers, which of course impressed our Jarl," he said.

"Why are you telling me this?" Brynjolf asked.

"Do you need me to paint a picture for you? There's a new noble in town. Don't you think that's a perfect occasion to break into the place and clean it out before the owner even shows?" Mercer prompted.

The Nord sighed. "Where's the home?"

"Honeyside," Mercer said. "You'd best get over there before the new housecarl's assigned. There's only a small window of opportunity where things will be easy pickings."

"Ah, you know me. I like a challenge," he said with a smile. "Thanks for the tip, lad."

For what it was worth, it'd at least give him something to do. He decided he'd have a look at the place…see if anyone had moved anything in yet. No sense breaking into a house that'd be full of empty crates, cobwebs and dust. He made his way through the cistern, back to the Ragged Flagon and out the passage to the graveyard that only the thieves in the Guild knew of. As he exited, he discerned that it was likely close to midnight – a perfect time to do some reconnaissance work.

As he made his way through the streets of Riften, he started to think about the girl again. She'd been a perfect thief that day in the marketplace. Snuck her way into the merchant's lockbox and stole the ring without anyone the wiser. She'd even taken to planting it on that Dunmer that had crossed the Guild. Never even questioned why – she just did it. He'd no idea what she had looked to get out of it…perhaps the thrill of the act. Who knew? Why did any thief steal? It was just what they did.

When they'd met up at the Bee and Barb that evening, he'd told her how pleased he was that she'd followed through with the tasks. Gave her directions to the Ragged Flagon even…though not through the nicest part of town. He didn't think that would have mattered considering how she handled herself. Either way, she showed interest in being introduced to his way of life – she definitely showed interest. He truly thought she'd be back. But months had passed. She'd moved on for certain. Gods, she might even be dead for all he knew.

As he neared Honeyside, a pair of guards stood near its entrance. He waited for a short while, but when they didn't seem to have any intention of vacating, he decided to check another way in. He leaned on the rail overlooking the dockyard and noticed the home seemed to have its own dock. Why he'd never noticed that before, he wasn't sure, but he noticed it when it counted, and that suited him fine. He continued along the walkway and when the guards turned away from his direction, he slipped over the rail and into some bushes. Carefully scrambling down an embankment, he eventually found himself on the dock looking up a stairway to the home's back porch.

_Perfect…_

There was enough darkness with the moon hanging as just a sliver of light in the sky. No torches or lanterns lit the area either. He snuck up the stairs and found the back entrance, pulling a lockpick from his pouch. It slid easy and the door clicked quietly, opening with a slight creak. The room he found himself in was quite dark, but recognizable enough as a bedroom. No one had sullied the linens on it though…perhaps the house was uninhabited yet.

He crept through the room towards a doorway. A light seemed to flicker beyond…maybe someone was here after all. As he reached the arch of the door, he saw a candle on a table next to a solitary chair. Dangling over the side of the chair was an arm holding a book. The arm must have had a very sleepy owner to have fallen asleep midway through reading, but Brynjolf didn't care. He tossed a small pebble next to where the chair sat, testing how light of a sleeper the individual in it could be. The person moved slightly at the sound, moaning a bit in their slumber.

At least he knew it was a woman in the chair now. Or at least a feminine sounding man…

He crept into the dimly lit room, his eyes moving up and down the shelves, looking for treasures that could be easily grabbed and stashed. He was daring when people were home during a heist, but he didn't press his luck that far where a Thane was concerned. A small pile of gemstones caught his eye on a nearby table by the window. He silently made his way over to it and began to inspect them. Placing them in his hand, he inched closer to the window to allow some of the ambient light of the faded moon to highlight the gems. He held them up, one at a time, into the filtered light, examining them closely.

As he was about to pocket them, he made to stand up from his crouched position and felt a sharp poke at his side.

_Caught!_

"What are you doing in my house?"

"Would you believe, inspecting it for skeevers?" he replied.

The poke at his side became sharper, and he was convinced it was a dagger.

"Oh, that is rich."

"I try," he said. "What say we forget the whole thing? I put back what fell off the shelves and into my pockets, and no one will be the wiser. And then perhaps I look you up tomorrow and buy you a drink."

"I bet you say that to all the girls."

He felt the pressure from the blade at his side lessen, but only slightly.

"Only the pretty ones," he said.

"And you haven't even seen me."

"You sound pretty."

"Flatterer."

"Oh," he said. "I like you. You're feisty." If he could just distract the woman enough, he'd be able to disarm her somehow and escape this situation.

"You don't know the half of it…" Her voice trailed off a little. She sounded…distracted momentarily.

He seized the opportunity and quickly reached up with the hand closest to where the dagger sat, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling the arm away from his body. In a fluid motion, he yanked the woman back and spun her around until he was behind her; her back to his chest. He used her own weapon against her, pulling it close to her throat…ready to cut if need be.

"Going to kill me now? In my own home?" she asked.

_Who __**is**__ this woman? Remarkably cheeky for someone with a blade at their neck._

"You're not exactly in a position to be such a smart arse, lass," he reminded her.

"Ah, there it is."

"There what is?"

"Just something I wanted to hear. Listen, I don't know if I should be insulted or impressed that you are trying to break into my home. But I suppose that's dependent on whether you consider me Thane or thief."

"What in Oblivion are you talking about woman?" He had no idea what she was going on about. So he responded in the only way he knew how – he let her go and pushed her away.

"That's better," she said, rubbing at her neck. She began to turn around slowly, but the light did not illuminate her face until…

"Wait a moment…lass? That you?"

"For a thief Brynjolf, you're not very perceptive," she replied.

"Marieka! By the Nine, it _is_ you!" he exclaimed. "Come here, lass!"

He barely waited for her to approach him before pulling her into an embrace. It was something she had not expected, for she'd not have approached him. When he released her, she backed away to a comfortable distance and looked up at him.

"What…why didn't you come back? And how is it that you are Thane?" he asked. "I thought you'd have come back. Why didn't you come back?"

"Hmm…you asked me that already," she said with a smirk. "I don't know. I've been busy."

"Gods, woman! I invested a lot of time into you!" he exclaimed.

She moved to pick up the candle holder and began to carry it towards the bedroom.

"You did not. You barely knew me an hour before you offered me that job. What kind of time investment is that?" she said, shaking her head. She placed the candle holder on the bedside table and sat at the edge of the bed. She began to remove her boots as he leaned against the doorframe watching her.

"I've done a _lot_ of waiting for you. How long have you made me wait? Months!"

"I tend to do that to people," she replied, tossing a boot towards the wall. "Besides, I was going to come to find you at the Ragged Flagon tomorrow…had you just been a little more patient."

"Patient? Lass, I've paced down in that bloody pub waiting for you to arrive every day since you left. I could no longer be patient."

She paused and looked up at him. "Brynjolf…why did you expect me for so long? What did I do that told you I'd be there?"

"Because…you just…you _seemed_ very interested in me…I mean…in the lifestyle I was offering to show you. And I spoke so highly of you to Mercer. He'll likely not even wish to allow you into the Guild now. So I suppose you shouldn't even bother." He was stumbling over his words. Like a drunk. What _was_ it about this woman? Was it that she seemed impervious to his normal tricks? Or that she could give as well as she received?

"You seem nervous, Brynjolf." She continued to remove her other boot.

"Well, you did just catch me sneaking about your home. Which is _lovely_ by the way."

"It's barely furnished. Regardless…the nerves don't seem to be about being caught. Is it…me?" she asked, hesitantly.

"It might be. After all, lass…last we spoke, I _did_ tell you I'd demonstrate another of my talents, if you'll recall. And I have to say, I'm a wee bit unprepared. I hadn't planned for the Thane to be a woman. Or you." He started to breathe easier, feeling his confidence approaching levels of normalcy again.

She laughed and threw the second boot towards where the first landed. "It'll not be necessary. Despite the state of disrobing that you now find me in, I'm not planning on being bedded by a Nord such as yourself tonight."

"Well, that _is_ quite a shame, lass," he said as he walked towards where she sat. "After all," – he paused, kneeling in front of her – "we are quite near a bed."

"Yes…well…I don't think my husband would approve," she said.

"Your husband, is it?" he replied. He moved in closer to her, placing his hands on the edge of the bed, dangerously close to her thighs. "And just where is this husband of yours?"

"Well, I suspect he's likely in Whiterun by now considering we both left the College at the same time…me taking this detour to Riften. And since I've been here about four days now…" She paused, calculating the length of time in her head. "Yes, I'd say he's likely in Whiterun."

In the time it took her to determine where the man was, Brynjolf had moved to a crouching position in front of her, hovering inches in front of her face.

"Well then, Marieka, I'd say he's too far away from you to be of any use to you right now." His hand was at the crook of her neck, his thumb along her collarbone.

"I do enjoy the way you say my name," she said softly.

He moved forward, his mouth at her ear. "Marieka," he whispered, his lips brushing across her cheek.

"Brynjolf, I will not be bedded by you this eve," she said flatly.

His arms dropped to his sides as he fell back to his knees again and looked up at her sadly. "I must say lass…this is a great disappointment." He lowered his head on to her lap, resting on her like a pillow. He could feel her warmth radiating, breathing deeply to inhale her scent. "I may need consoling to recover."

"You are hopeless, Nord," she said, smacking him gently on the back of the head. He noticed that her hand did not move from his hair.

"There," he said, "that's the way. Make me feel better about losing this battle, lass."

From his vantage, he could see her face out of the corner of his eye. She looked wistful and stared into the darkness as she absentmindedly began to stroke his hair. He brought his right hand up towards the back of her calf and placed it there gently. She was so warm…everywhere he touched her. It was a change from the normally icy Nord women he'd bedded. His other arm meandered back above the bed, daring move up the fine skirts she wore to land on the side of her thigh. As he drew his right hand up along the back of her leg, it too came to rest at her thigh under the thick skirts.

He lifted his head off of her lap and looked up at her, as her hand finally fell away from hair she'd been running her fingers through delicately. The candlelight silhouetted her from behind, highlighting the elegant frame of her neck and shoulders. He again moved towards her, as if to kiss her, but stopped suddenly as he recognized a tear had fallen on to her cheek.

"Lass," he said softly, "why do you cry?"

She said nothing. He brought a hand out from under the skirts and reached up to wipe the tear from her face.

"I must rest now. It has been a long day. I trust you can find your way out, as you managed to find your way in."

She pulled away from him and moved up towards the head of the bed. In full dress, she slipped under the covers. She did not watch him as he kneeled there, unsure of what to say or do. She reached out to extinguish the candle with her fingers…leaving him in the darkness on all accounts.


	7. Brynjolf III

**Just a reminder...ahead there be dragons...of a smexi nature. Yeah, I dunno how this is going to go for any of you. I have found myself stumbling over words and having a really difficult time describing certain scenes. If it all turns out as well as it looked in my head – and trust me...it replayed incessantly, keeping me awake for hours 14 through 19 of my 30+ hours of being awake. Great…I can't get pixelated sex out of my head. Why am I still awake? Oh right...this Nord seems to want his story told.**

**Hey...I warned you it wouldn't be pretty.**

**Rating change to M. Definitely M. If only because I'm dying of embarrassment from having **_**thought**_** of this, let alone attempted to put it into words. And while I'm deathly afraid of what a request for reviews/comments might bring, I think it's important for me to know what you think. Is this too much? Not enough? Do I absolutely suck as much as I think I do right now?**

**Props to whoever catches the hidden Massive Attack lyric…hehe…**

**[insert standard disclaimer here...and possibly a thesaurus for all those ways to describe boy/girl parts]**

* * *

><p>As Brynjolf lay in his bunk in the darkness of the cistern, he listened to the water running through the cavernous expanse. It dripped and gurgled as it ran over the rough ground that served as its bed. He hoped that by focusing on the sounds that he'd be able to put <em>whatever<em> had happened at the Riften home of Marieka some hours before out of his mind.

Unfortunately for him, the quiet echoes of the water were doing nothing but allowing him to concentrate on exactly the thoughts he was trying to forget.

He closed his eyes and stretched out to the length of his bunk, placing one arm under his head, and the other on his chest. He breathed deeply and rhythmically, hoping to put himself into enough of a trance-like state that eventually sleep would overtake him.

Creaks and groans of the structure he and his fellow Guild members resided in were not helping at all.

Things seemed pretty hopeless.

He groaned quietly before throwing the arm that was resting on his chest up to cover his eyes. _Right. As if covering my eyes will block these visions out of my mind…_

He pulled his arm from his eyes and was about to roll over when he felt a hand clamp down over his mouth and a breath at his ear.

"I wish to join your Guild. Teach me everything you know…"

His eyes shot open and darted to the figure crouched immediately at his side.

_Marieka!_

She moved a finger from her free hand up to her mouth to advise him to keep hushed before pulling her other hand from over his mouth. He flipped over on his side to look directly at her.

"What are you doing here?"

"I just told you," she whispered back.

"You couldn't have waited until daylight?" he asked.

"Thieves work best under the cover of night. I thought it was appropriate," she said.

He sat up on his bed. He wiped at his eyes to attempt to refocus them to the dim light. He looked across to where Mercer normally slept and did not see the man in his bed.

"I'll take you to Mercer," he said. "It looks like we're not the only ones who are awake right now, lass."

She smiled in the darkness and stood as Brynjolf got to his feet.

They walked together until they arrived at the door of a small room off of the cistern that the leader of the Guild often worked in.

"Wait here," he said and she nodded her agreement.

He knocked at the door and waited for Mercer's response. The man opened the door and looked out. He saw Brynjolf and looked past him to see Marieka also standing there. He nodded at the man and allowed him entry.

Once inside, he explained Marieka's wishes – that she still wanted to be a part of the Guild, despite how long it had taken for her to return. Mercer was skeptical, yet intrigued. He saw the only solution to be her taking on her first job – a job that even the Guild's best members had not yet been able to crack. Brynjolf protested that it would be too much for her first attempt…that she could be killed. But Mercer ignored his pleas. If she were to join, this would be the job that would make her.

The two men exited the small room, and Mercer sent Brynjolf away while he explained the job to her. He watched from afar as she listened intently to him, nodding and apparently asking questions at points. Soon after, she gathered up the information he presented to her and headed back in Brynjolf's direction. He made to stand up from where he sat, but she caught his eye and motioned for him to stay.

"Good luck, lass," he called out quietly after her. "When you return, I'll teach you everything I know."

She smiled as she disappeared from his view.

_Gods go with her…bring her back to me safe…_

* * *

><p>The hours dragged by. <em>So many<em> hours dragged by. Half the day had come and gone before she returned to the cistern again. But at least she had returned in one piece. She was injured somewhat, but nothing that couldn't be fixed up. He gave her his bed to rest in, and sat nearby the entire time she slept.

Mercer gave him suspicious glances occasionally, but he was pleased with the results of the job she completed, so he had no complaints.

When she awoke later, he watched her eyes flutter open. She was unaware of her surroundings for a moment, but then her eyes fell upon him and she smiled.

"So…am I a member of the Guild then?" she asked.

He nodded. "Welcome lass." He took one of her hands into his and smiled at her. "When you are ready…whenever that may be, I shall train you to be a better thief."

She sat up in bed. "I'm ready."

"Are you sure, lass? You were injured. You should rest," he suggested.

She shook her head. "No. I'm ready."

He took her throughout the cistern and into the Flagon…introducing her to all the members of the Guild that happened to be about. Some were wary. Most were warm. Almost all were impressed that she completed the job she was given at Goldenglow Estate. She was gracious to all for their welcome…even those who were not particularly welcoming.

"Come Marieka," Byrnjolf eventually said. "I have one last thing for you."

He brought her into a smaller room that sat between the cistern and the Flagon. He lit a torch inside the room and retrieved a set of armour that Tonilia provided him with moments before.

"This is for you," he said, handing her the armour. "You're one of us now."

She smiled up at him as she took it from him. He motioned to a screen in the corner of the room. "You can try it on over there, if you like."

A few moments later, she emerged from behind the screen in the armour.

"It's perfect," Brynjolf said as he looked at her.

"It's armour," she said, scrunching up her face.

"But it suits you, lass. Just as I think this life will suit you…whenever you choose it," he replied.

"I appreciate your help, Brynjolf," she said. "Annnd I apologize for just how long it took me to return. And about earlier…"

"No need," he replied. "You showed up and impressed. My reputation is safe for now."

She smiled. "So, you had some lessons in mind for me?"

He nodded with a sly smile. "That I did. And you're sure you're ready for them?"

"I am."

"Good. You obviously have a knack for certain types of thievery," he began. "But one of the ways I've always been so successful is up close and personal with a mark."

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Of course. Using your wiles…your own charms against a mark is the easiest way to draw their attention from what you are doing. It also works defensively...it'll make it easier to recognize if you're being played," he explained.

"I'm not…sure what you're getting at," she admitted.

"Here," he said, "let me show you."

He approached her and stood behind her, wrapping one of his arms around her waist, as the other found her face. He caressed her cheek…her neck…and she leaned back into him. He breathed warmth across her ear and heard a soft sigh escape her lips. He pulled away quickly and she spun around, confused.

He lifted up his hand in front of her face…dangling the coin purse he had lifted from her belt while she gave in to his touch.

"Oooh," she said, appreciating his work. "Sneaky…"

He handed back the coin pouch to her. "Why don't you give it a go, lass?"

She looked at him through narrowed eyes, appearing almost contemplative. A few moments later, she stepped forward to him. She looked as though she appreciated the smirk on his face, rising to the challenge he presented her. She quickly placed her hands gently upon his chest, running them up towards his face. She had to stand on her toes to reach his height, yet somehow he found it endearing rather than clumsy. As her left hand moved across his cheek and found itself entangled in his hair, her right hand traveled from his face, back down his chest and under his arm, encircling him to land on the small of his back. She lightly pulled him towards her and brought her lips towards the side of his face. He felt them brush across his jaw, sending a shiver down his back. He became so focused on where her hands and mouth traveled that he had no idea if or when she'd managed to lift anything from him. So when she backed away from him suddenly, he began to feel around, assessing what might be missing.

He looked back at her to see her gripping his dagger between her thumb and finger. He shook his head and chuckled.

"Well done," he said proudly. "I'd never even noticed when your hand got close to it."

She smiled at him, returning his dagger to him. "This could be quite a bit of fun, I suppose."

"You've no idea, lass," he mumbled. "Doesn't hurt if your mark is fetching though. Some are more difficult than others."

"I'd imagine so," she agreed. "Not everyone in Skyrim is as handsome as..." She trailed off, leaving her unspoken word dangling in front of him.

"Don't say anything you'll regret," he purred into her ear, suddenly standing closer than she remembered if he judged by her reaction. Her eyes had widened, yet while she'd previously have stumbled backwards, this time she stood her ground.

"Perhaps you'd like me to attempt to steal something else from you today," she said, her voice a mere whisper. Even she seemed uncertain if she was asking him or telling.

"I'm not sure I could hold back over that again, lass," he replied. "It could be a dangerous proposition you make." He looked down at her as though she were prey, towering over her. Yet her refusal to step back made his breathing ragged and uneven. He'd no idea if she was deliberately teasing him, or if she was naive enough to believe that she were as innocent as she played.

She pulled the hood of her armour down slowly. "Then perhaps you'd be kind enough to give me that _other_ demonstration you were on about last night."

Her words were honeyed and seductive. Like she'd become a different woman. Something in her had changed. Something she wasn't telling him. And it made him want her even more than he'd let on.

At first, it was a hunt. He was a Nord and a thief...and Nord thieves conquered...taking what they wanted. Yet for some reason, he was intimidated by certain things about her...how independent she seemed...the emotion she showed. Once, he'd only wanted to bed the girl…take her for everything she carried with her. Then…this…

Suddenly the amount of restraint he had shown was washing away, replaced only by the burning of lust in his core. He wanted her...and by the Gods, she seemed willing to return the favour.

Despite the mere inches that rested between them at that moment, Brynjolf wanted the gap closed. He reached out and took hold of the belts at her waist, pulling her near to him. She gasped at the sudden movement…more so when his fingers introduced themselves to her half-tangled hair, crashing his mouth down on to her exposed neck. He bit at her jawline hungrily; she'd make no mistake of his intentions. He refused to let go of the belt and held her exactly where he wanted her to be. This entire experience was going to go how he directed it to. He just wasn't sure what the feeling inside him meant when he began to consider how she'd feel about that. However, she seemed fine with it at the moment – he felt small hands pulling at the belts and buckles on his armour and smiled into her skin as she attempted – in futility – to undress him.

"Your armour," she panted, "is ridiculous."

He chuckled heartily as he loosened his grip on her belts and drove his hand under her thigh, pulling her leg up. Her calf and foot instinctively wrapped around his waist, and as he hoisted her up; her other leg mirroring the first's actions.

"You'll get used to it, lass," he breathed into her ear. "Yours is very similar."

"I…don't even know if I buckled mine correctly. I could possibly be confined to it for the rest of my days."

"You doubt my ability to break most locks," he said, his thumb deftly working its way from buckle to buckle, loosening the clasps on her armour. She continued to work clumsily at removing his armour, but before she had unbuckled two of his clasps, he was already pulling a second of her belts over her head. He'd been pleased that he'd managed to maintain control of his hold on her – it'd have been terrible to have dropped the woman in his arms. When he had returned his attention to her, he saw the frustration covering her face at her inability to undress him at any speed. "You're incorrigible, lass. Let me get it for you."

She loosened her legs' grip from his waist as he lowered her to the ground and swatted at him. "You'd best not insult me. You don't know much about me after all. Why, I could have a whole range of powers at my disposal that would tear you limb from limb. Or perhaps I have a hidden talent that could cause you death by a whisper." He continued to work at the remaining buckles as she spoke. He assumed she was getting at something with her comments, but he didn't pry. If there was something to tell, she'd tell in her way.

Though he considered just _how_ much she was talking while all this happened. Any other woman would have been completely enthralled by now, putting their mouths to…_other_ uses. Yet he was actually _enjoying_ the banter as they disrobed each other. Or…as he disrobed them both, since her fingers were seemingly of little use in this endeavour.

When he finally dealt with the last clasp, he spun her around and pulled her tight to him. She leaned her head back into him, expelling a harsh breath as he pushed his pelvis against her. Rather than wasting any further time on the front clasps of the coat, he pulled it up and over her head, holding it above her with her arms still stuck in the sleeves. His free hand landed quickly at her hip and wandered across her abdomen; thumb slipping briefly beneath the waist of her trousers. As the hand drew a line from her waist to her breast, he discovered she wore nothing under the armour – and it thrilled him. He heard a hitched breath as she finally slipped free from the coat, her arms falling behind her head and encircling him in a strange contortion.

Brynjolf's head dipped lower towards her neckline; his lips brushing across her shoulder. Without warning, his mouth attempted mutiny…the most unwise words he'd spoken in his life, spilling from his lips.

"What would your husband think of this?"

He felt her immediately tense up, becoming motionless in his arms.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid, Brynjolf!_

He cursed himself silently, awaiting a response from her. Hoping he didn't stick his boot in his mouth.

"My husband and I have an arrangement," she replied, spinning in his grip.

When she faced him, he raised an eyebrow, prompting her to continue.

"And by arrangement, I mean that I'm ninety nine percent certain that I discovered my husband in bed with my housecarl," she said, looking away from him.

"Wait now, lass," he said. "Your housecarl? But you've only just been made Thane. And you said your husband had gone to Whiterun."

She looked back up at him, reaching up to grab a piece of her hair to twirl distractedly. "Well, I'm…Thane there too."

He laughed loudly. "It would seem there is _plenty_ about you that I do not know. _How_ are you the Thane of _two_ cities?"

"I'm a bit of a do-gooder," she shrugged. "And apparently the Jarls impress easily."

"You'd best be careful, lass. That kind of stature tends to make one a target." He suddenly felt protective of her and his arms circled her form, pulling her closer. "So…what of the other one percent?"

"Hmm?"

"You said you were ninety nine percent sure about…" he trailed off, not needing to say it.

"Oh, right," she replied. "Well, there's always the chance that my husband has a twin I don't know of. Whose name sounds suspiciously like Onmund…"

He shook his head, smiling. "Marieka…you are…incredible. And I'm quite certain there's something about you that you're not telling me. Something that…_defines_ you."

She looked up at him, bringing a soft hand up to rest upon his face. Her fingers brushed the coarse stubble on his cheek and her thumb plied at his lower lip.

"Brynjolf," she said, "we've talked enough. Just fuck me."

He never required a second invitation.

He immediately threw aside his coat, and they both proceeded to free themselves of their remaining vestments. They finally stood stripped before one another; bared bodies and souls. He breathed in harshly and attacked. His mouth…hot breath…panting, was all over her at once. Bit at her neck…sucked at her breasts…licked from her knee to her inner thigh. When his mouth finally crashed into hers, he recognized his hunger. He felt her reach down between his legs and near melted when he felt the tentative touch of her hand.

Tongues and lips and _teeth_ and fingertips on skin. By the Nine, he could no longer wait to be inside of her.

He pulled her on top of him and they crashed to the floor, half landing upon a spread-out bedroll. She no longer felt the desire to tease him and slid down upon him in a fluid motion. She rose up and fell down along his length, panting and moaning with him in synchronous harmony. She leaned forward into his arms and they rocked together until he flipped her on to her back and took the lead. As he thrust into her, she wrapped her legs round his waist, claiming him as her own for those brief moments. His mouth sought out her neck once more; gentle kisses alternating with animalistic nips.

They continued on until he was spent; he collapsed at her side. Full of sweat and sweetness. Breathing. Shivering. Satisfied.

* * *

><p>They lay together in the small, dank room; comfortable enough in the dying torchlight. She lay upon her back, looking up at the uneven stone ceiling; he on his side, head propped up as he supported it with his elbow on the bedroll. His free hand traced intricate works of art that would never be seen on to her abdomen and she shifted uncomfortably every so often when he inadvertently brushed across a sensitive spot.<p>

"Do you love him?"

She glanced over at him, knowing who he meant, but asking anyway.

"Onmund?"

"If that is your husband's name…yes," he said, brushing his fingers lightly across a breast.

"Yes."

"Will you tell him of this?" he asked. Not out of fear…or nervousness…just curiosity.

"No. I'll not bring him to Riften again. This part of my life…it's for me," she said, a piece of sadness echoing behind her words.

"You were married here…in the Temple, I assume." It was not a question.

"We were," she replied. A wistful smile settled on to her lips. "I don't know why he suggested we marry. He saw I wore that ridiculous amulet…and just…I don't know. We'd traveled together for some time by that point. Seen an incredible amount of death…and unhappiness. He told me how sad I often looked when we traveled. Thought perhaps that he might be able to offer me some happiness. And he has, don't get me wrong. I love him. I trust him with my life. He's defended me fiercely, from both physical and emotional attacks. But…I tend to think…"

She didn't continue.

"Do you think perhaps you made the decision to marry too hastily?" he asked.

"I think that's exactly what we did. He even said something about not knowing when our lives would come to an end. That we should be happy and have someone we knew would be at our side. And I agreed. I still agree, I suppose," she said.

"It's not what you thought it would be," he said quietly.

"Not at all," she said. "And now he finds comfort in the arms and bed of my housecarl, Lydia."

He wanted to end her troubles. But didn't know where to start.

"Have you ever married, Brynjolf?"

He shook his head. "No. And ruin my chance to bed so many women?"

She smiled. It set his heart to beat faster when she did. "Ah, and now I am counted among the ranks. Another notch on your bedpost."

"You might have noticed, lass, there are no posts on my bed. And you're no mere conquest, Marieka," he said.

"Say my name again."

"Marieka."

She closed her eyes as he did…the smile on her face widening.

His hand landed upon her collarbone, his thumb and fingers on opposite sides of her throat. It felt slightly possessive, but she melted into his touch. As her eyes opened and she looked to him, her expression saddened; the smile left her face.

"I'm sorry if you're looking for something more," she said, breaking his gaze. "I can't offer you love."

He closed his eyes and smiled, shaking his head slowly.

_I don't need love. I just need you…_

He took her hand into his, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss it softly.

She echoed his thoughts. "I don't need love, Brynjolf. I need…escape," she confessed, the words spilling out of her mouth as if they'd been waiting to do so forever.

He caressed her face; his rough hands surprisingly gentle upon her skin. She was trying to escape from more than just her marriage. She was trying to escape from some colossal part of her life that seemed to be consuming her. And he wasn't certain that he'd ever find out what that part was…

"I'll be happy to give it to you then, lass."

He was content to be part of the darker recesses of her life…one of her dirty secrets. He'd always lived his life in the shadows. The Guild would offer her escape from whatever she ran from…and so would he. Gladly.


	8. Belethor

**If you've been in Whiterun, then you must have run into Belethor. This guy always sounds so greasy and creepy, but I have a tendency to see the potential in people.**

**Hence…this…**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Belethor<strong>_

It was hard to survive as a shopkeeper in Whiterun these days. Belethor leaned on the counter at his general goods shop, surveying his shelves around the room. They were much emptier than they had been the year before. Trade had slowed so much in the past few months; so much so that the Breton worried he'd be forced to let Sigurd go from his employ. Which was a shame, for the young man was always pleasant with customers, and did a wonderful job spreading word of the shop through the city.

He'd been fortunate enough that whenever he thought the doors of his shop would be closing for good, a savior would march their way into his store, making a large purchase or trading some rare item that provided a fortuitous windfall for the store's supplies.

And more often than not, his store's savior was the same person. The Breton girl who typically showed up every fortnight or so.

He had a feeling about her the first day she'd come into his shop. She was alone, looking weary from who knows what had befallen her before her arrival. She wore rags…essentially. Dirty and haggard, she browsed his shelves for a long time, before settling on a piece of light armour and a better pair of boots than the footwraps she wore. He felt sorry for her, but she wasn't the first traveler…or refugee…or fugitive that had passed through his doors, and she'd not be the last. He wasn't about to go giving a woman like her a discount just because she was down on her luck.

_Everyone_ was down on their luck.

It was because of his resistance to provide special favours and give extra discounts to his patrons that most of the city's residents saw him as a sleazy swindler – only out for himself. It wasn't true. He may have joked about even selling out his own family members, but it was just to put a smile on the face of an unhappy person, browsing his wares. He wasn't _that_ callous. Or crass. Or any other words that the people of Whiterun frequently used to describe him.

It didn't matter that he'd actually frequently given gifts of toys to the children that ran through the streets daily. Or that he'd provided supplies to some of his fellow business owners, even going so far as to build a rack for Arcadia to hang her dried herbal ingredients for her alchemy shop. He was kind…charitable…a good man…

Too bad he was the only one who seemed to see it.

Yes, Whiterun was definitely full of tough customers for a shopkeeper such as Belethor. Difficult to get, and even harder to keep. That group of warriors…the Companions…they were a tough group to draw in. But they were an important faction, and he fought hard to provide them with items they needed. In fact, the time the Breton first brought in pieces of dragon bone and scale, he put Sigurd in charge and ran the entire way to Jorrvaskr and its Skyforge to deliver the news to the smith, Eorlund Gray-Mane. The man immediately bought the entire stock of bone and scale happily, and had been a return customer of Belethor's since then. Yet he seemed to be the only one. None of the others…none of the Companions ever showed at his door.

Bah…what did it matter? He'd likely have to close soon enough. Business was not good. It wasn't getting better. And he hadn't seen the Breton girl for close to two months. With all the dragon bone she brought into the store, there was quite a real possibility that she had been finally slain by one. Or perhaps that she had moved on to another Hold in Skyrim. Or just found someone with better merchandise. Someone that could afford to give her a discount.

"Sigurd!" he hollered towards the back of the shop that doubled as his home. "Keep an eye on the place, would you? I need to get some air."

* * *

><p>The Bannered Mare. How <em>did<em> he manage to make his way here? Belethor started out "getting air" as he advised Sigurd…working away at the woodpile behind the store for some time. He then perused the market stalls, eyeing the new produce and meat for sale…admiring the steel of the Grey-Manes. Yet, inevitably, his unhappiness led his feet straight to where he could drown the sorrow best. Hulda's tavern was the best in the city. Technically it was the _only_ in the city, but no matter. It was a damn good place to get a drink. Or several if the occasion called for it. And the sad occasion certainly called for it that day.

If something good didn't come to his shop soon…that would be it. There wouldn't be much more he could do.

Naturally, drinking away your last few septims probably wasn't the best idea. But what were a few mere septims going to do for him anyway? He may as well have invested in some fine mead.

Several rounds passed before he realized he had poured his heart out to Hulda, letting the woman in on some of his darkest secrets – like the time he had overcharged a woman, followed her to her home to return the coin, and the caught her changing out of her clothes after he broke into the house. The door _was_ open – he just didn't have the couth to knock first.

The woman had the patience of Akatosh. She listened to his troubles, poured his mead and didn't kick him into the streets. Yet, eventually, even she tired of his long tales of sadness and struggle.

He picked himself up off of his seat and headed out the door of the tavern. Unsteady legs led him into the moonlight. By the gods, he'd certainly been away from the store for a long time. He hurried – or at least _thought_ he had hurried towards home, wobbling unevenly through the streets.

"You there!" a voice shouted.

He spun around, trying to find the source of it. He saw three guards. They all pointed at him.

"I'm of mind to arrest you for public intoxication," the three guards said.

Belethor hiccupped. "You don't have to do that," he slurred. "I live right over there." He pointed in a vague direction that covered approximately half of the city.

"That's it," the guards said. "You're coming with me."

"You mean 'us'," he corrected.

The guards made to move towards him, but three women stopped them.

"You don't need to do that," they said.

"Yeah," he interrupted. "Listen to these nice ladies."

The guards looked at the women. Belethor squeezed his eyes shut and refocused them when he opened them up again. "Hey…where'd the other guards and ladies go?"

The woman shook her head. "I'll take it from here."

"If you're certain, Thane," the guard replied. He continued on his patrol.

"Thane?" Belethor repeated. "You're a Thane?"

She nodded.

"Hey. I know you," he said, finally recognizing her. "You're the girl…the Breton…hey, did you know I'm a Breton? Because I'm a Breton. We have something in common. Do you come to my store because I'm a Breton?"

She sighed. "Belethor, why don't you come over here and sit down on this bench?"

He complied and flopped down on to the bench and looked at her. "I know you from somewhere," he slurred.

"Wow. You are…_really _intoxicated. How much have you—never mind. You probably have no idea." She dug around in a pouch at her waist and pulled out a small vial of liquid. "Here. Drink this."

"What is it?" he asked. But before she could answer, he had already slurped the vial's contents completely.

"Oh!" She rubbed her forehead a little, hoping the liquid would straighten him out a bit. Coherence was a nice quality to have. "Well, it should hopefully help you see things a little clearer. And speak a little clearer. Perhaps help with your memory."

He shook his head for a moment.

"Better?" she asked.

"Much better," he replied. "This…this stuff is amazing. I need to sell this at my shop!"

She chuckled. "I'm sorry, but it's a secret recipe. Perhaps one day we can go into business together and we can sell it as partners. But not until I settle down and stop travelling."

"When will that be?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Only time will tell me that." She looked at him pensively. "You know, in all the time I've come to your shop, I don't think I've ever told you my name."

"No, you haven't," he replied. "I've just called you the Breton girl."

"You wouldn't be the first," she said with a smile. "My name is Marieka."

He scrunched up his face. "That's not a very Breton name."

"Well, I didn't pick it. My parents did. I think they smoked a lot of crimson nirnroot in their youth though," she replied.

He laughed loudly. "You…you have a good sense of humour."

"I practice a lot. I find a good skeleton or two and sit them in chairs. And I just _constantly_ tell them jokes. If they fall over, then I know I've done a good job. And if they don't, then I kick them. Repeatedly. Eventually, they always fall over."

"You sure you're the Thane?" he asked. "I've never known a Thane that didn't walk around with a stick up their arse at least half of the time. The other half of the time, it's a _big_ stick up their arse. A _very_ big stick."

She smiled at him. "Turns out that all you need to do to be Thane is to slay a dragon. Did you know that?"

"Heeeey," he said, "speaking of dragons. You wouldn't happen to have any dragon bone or scales, would you? We are able to sell those so quickly that I can sometimes close the store for a week from the profits."

She shook her head. "Sorry…I actually just got rid of the last few not too long ago. They're very heavy you know."

He nodded. "Yes, they are. But don't you usually have that big muscly woman with you? Or at least the little scrawny man in the robes?"

"You refer to my husband," she replied, laughing.

"Well, he _is_ scrawny."

"He's a mage! Of course he's scrawny," she said.

"Well, that's a shame about the dragon bits. Any chance you'll come across another one soon?"

"Oh, I can practically guarantee it. I can't seem to get to another city without one circling overhead and dropping out of the sky to welcome me," she said.

"Very good," he replied. "So then if you don't get killed by the next one, remember Belethor's General Goods is always open for you to sell them."

"Of course, Belethor. I wouldn't dream of bringing them anywhere else." She smiled warmly at him and stood up. "I'm afraid I must take my leave, fellow Breton. I must be off on yet another adventure very soon. Do take care of yourself. And don't drink so much. Things are never as bad as you think they are."

"I look forward to your return, dear Thane," he said gallantly. "Try not to die."

"Always." And with that, she turned and headed into the darkness of night.

* * *

><p>As he opened the door to his shop, Sigurd immediately scolded him.<p>

"Belethor! Where have you been? The store has been busy!" he shouted.

"Easy on the volume there Sigurd," he replied. "I'm working off some head pain right now."

"You smell like a meadery," the man said, disgusted.

"Well, there's good reason for that."

"Anyhow, the Breton girl was here today. She was looking for you," the younger man said.

"Yes, I just came upon her actually. She's quite talkative. And funny," he replied.

"And you forgot one more thing," Sigurd said. "Generous."

"What do you mean?" Belethor asked.

He hurried away and pulled out the bones and scales from what had to be three dragons, laying them across the counter.

"By the Nine!" Belethor exclaimed. "What kind of coin did you give the woman for all these? We can't have had enough!"

Sigurd shook his head. "She just…_gave_ them to us. Came in, asked for you, and when you weren't here she said that she thought you'd appreciate them."

The shopkeeper's jaw dropped wide open. The world had a funny way of helping one out when they needed it most.

Or perhaps that was just one of Marieka's finest qualities.


	9. Onmund II

**I am **_**so**_** sick right now. So after a full day of being sick to my stomach, not eating and trying to sleep, this chapter was born. Everyone needs to take it easy on Onmund…he's really a nice guy. ;)**

_**Onmund II**_

Mere moments after he had settled down at the table for a few bites of freshly made stew, a tremendous crash from the upper level of Breezehome caused him to jump from his seat and hurry upstairs.

"Love?" he called. "Marieka, are you all right?"

Onmund ran up the stairs, taking two at a time and turning quickly at the top to open the doors to their shared bedchambers. When the doors had opened, his eyes beheld a sight he did not expect. Marieka was underneath a tray of uneaten food, dishes, and had managed to entangle her arm into the back of a chair.

He rushed to her side, carefully extracting her arm from the chair back and picking up the items that had crashed to the floor. He helped her to her feet and made for her to sit on the edge of the bed before kneeling in front of her and looking up at her.

"Marieka, what happened?"

She looked down upon herself and frowned, tears beginning to well up in her eyes. "I just…I wanted to get up…to try to eat. But I leaned on the tray and it began to flip…and I tried to grab it…and I tripped and fell into the chair. And I…"

He shushed her and took her hands into his. "Oh love," he said. "You are too weak to be walking around. You need to stay in bed. Here…let me get you something to change into."

She was covered in broth and water and some sort of liquid concoction that he had managed to brew up for her earlier in the day. It would do her no good to remain in the nightclothes that she was in. The furs and covers of the bed were safe from her catastrophic fall at least. He found a dressing gown – warm and soft – in the dresser in the corner of the room. He helped her out of her soiled clothes and into the gown. She looked up at him and smiled weakly.

"Thank you, Onmund," she said quietly. "I haven't been very useful lately."

"I'll hear none of that," he replied. "You're ill and you need to rest. Don't even consider going off and adventuring around until you are feeling completely back to normal."

He helped her back on to the bed and laid her down so she was as comfortable as she could be, then sat at the edge of the bed next to her.

"And you'd best stop putting the fire out. You need to keep warm," he scolded. He lifted his hand up in the direction of the hearth and summoned flames to his fingers. A few moments later and a small fire filled it, warming the room. He pulled the covers up over her and leaned in to kiss her forehead.

"I'm so hot though," she pleaded.

"You're feverish," he replied. "You need to let the sickness out, but it won't happen if you keep kicking your covers off and extinguishing the fire. And you need to eat."

"I've tried," she said. "I have attempted to eat everything you've brought. But even your potions will not stay down."

He frowned. "Shall I try another mixture? Perhaps some garlic and juniper berries this time?"

She shook her head. "No, I just…I think I need to sleep again."

"Of course love," he replied. He stood up and made to leave the room.

"Onmund," she began, "if you have nothing terribly pressing to do at the moment, would you please stay?"

He smiled at her. "I will. Just let me bring these dishes down to the kitchen and I will be right back up to sit with you."

He collected the dishes and reminded himself to bring up a cloth to clean up the spill. As he made his way past the small room in which Lydia slept, a feeling of something…guilt, perhaps, welled up within him. There had been several occasions that the two had laid with each other as his wife had been off travelling. He'd yearned for Marieka's affection, but she was not there to give it to him. Lydia had seen the looks upon his face…the loneliness…the sense of longing. She confronted him regarding his feelings and they had discussed them – at length.

The first time, Marieka had been gone for almost a month. He'd not had an idea of how long she had planned to be away…or if she even yet lived. At least when she'd gone with Lydia, he had a sense that the women would watch each other's back; they'd be safer. But his wife had taken to travelling on her own more often – times when she advised him she needed to be stealthy. Or if someone she'd tasked herself to help would prefer to tag along with her instead. And so he'd be forced to return home, to sit and wait until she returned.

"You are lonely," Lydia had said to him out of the blue one day.

He looked at her and nodded. "I miss her. I _worry_ about her."

"She can certainly take care of herself, Onmund," she replied. "You should know this better than anyone."

"Of course," he replied. "But that doesn't prevent me from worrying that she has finally found a foe to best her."

As the conversation continued, he opened up to the housecarl, letting loose so many of his fears and wishes. She made no moves to lead either of them to the position where they would ultimately find themselves that night. Yet, when they ceased their words, Lydia left to ascend the stairs to her room; and Onmund – for whatever reason – followed.

She stopped at the top of the stairs and he nearly ran her over as she turned to face him.

"Do you need something?" she asked.

"What…what do you mean?" he replied.

"I am housecarl to my Thane. I am charged with protecting her when I am with her. But I am also instructed to take care of her home when she is gone. You are part of her home. Do you need…taking care of?"

The question was not loaded. There was no seduction. No sweetness. It was practical. Business-like. The woman was tasked with a job, and she took it seriously. He suspected that she may have stretched her job description a little far in certain directions, but he…_needed_ the touch of a woman. He wanted his wife, but she'd not been there to provide it. He did not love Lydia. Never even considered the thought.

Onmund nearly tripped up the last step as he ascended towards the woman, grabbing her by the waist and placing hungry, hurried kisses upon her lips. There was desperation in the way his hands fumbled over Lydia's armour, attempting to remove it while the two staggered together towards her bed. The second they'd entered the room, he pushed the door closed and slammed her against it. His thoughts kept floating to Marieka…comparisons between her and Lydia. How much taller the Nord was…her muscular form compared to Marieka's small and soft frame. The roughness of Lydia's touch and her powerful nature – a bittersweet contrast to his wife's subservient response to him when they were together like this.

He stepped back from Lydia for a moment; put his hand to his forehead.

"Onmund, what's wrong?" she asked.

"I…I don't know if…" he began, but shook his head to clear his mind of her. He needed this release. He worried constantly about his wife…it was all he could do to hope and pray that these few moments would allow him to just _stop thinking_ about her.

His eyes met those of the woman in front of him and she pulled him back towards her. In moments, their clothing was tossed aside in favour of being wrapped in the other's embrace.

And suddenly, he found himself in the present…in the kitchen, still holding the dishes Marieka had spilled to the ground. He placed them down on the table and staggered back a moment, reeling from the memories.

"Marieka…what do I tell you?" he mused aloud. He roughly ran a hand through his hair before picking up a cloth to return upstairs.

When he arrived at their room, she had fallen asleep. He quickly cleaned up the mess and piled her soiled clothes into a basket in the corner. He started for the door of their room again, ready to head downstairs, but thought better of it. He instead closed the doors, and then returned to their bed, gently lowering himself on to it next to her.

It was here that he was reminded why he'd fallen in love with her in the first place. Her vulnerability…her humility. Before she was Dragonborn, she was simply Marieka. Her confidence had grown by leaps and bounds in the recent months, but he couldn't fault her for it. She'd have died at the hands of some bandit or soldier or dragon had she not allowed it to happen. But it was becoming harder to see that woman underneath her increasingly cold exterior ever since she left the monastery of High Hrothgar.

He reached out to stroke her hair, softly and gently. She stirred slightly and her eyes fluttered open.

"Where's Lydia?" she asked quietly.

"I've sent her off for the day. To give her a change of scenery and pick up supplies," he replied.

"Good."

His heart leapt into his throat as her eyes closed again and she fell back into sleep. He wondered if she knew. He _suspected_ she knew. For one of the nights he lay with Lydia, he thought he heard something outside of the Nord's room. And Marieka had returned that night, several hours later. She was lightly intoxicated, but brushed it off as being due to a celebration upon her return. The next day, she had dragged Onmund back off to the College, and when they'd completed their task there and eventually headed back to Whiterun, they'd separated on their journey home. She told him she had business to attend to in Riften, and he hadn't questioned it at the time. Though now, he could only wonder what brought her back there.

Had she a confidante to confess that she had seen him with Lydia in the most intimate of embraces? Had she perhaps even taken a lover of her own, to work through the pain?

He breathed a deep breath and looked back down at his wife. Weak and on the verge of breaking. It was at this time when he was able to display his true feelings to her…to remind her that he loved her. Would always love her. Even when it may not have appeared that way.

Perhaps one day he would summon the courage to tell her. To confess what he had done by succumbing to his primal needs. And at that time, maybe she would be able to admit the same. He prayed to Mara that it would not change things between them.

After all…they stood together in the face of danger when it counted the most. They faced down adversaries and had each other's back. And to be honest, he wouldn't care if she took a thousand other physical companions…so long as he was the one she loved.


	10. Adrianne Avenicci

**I'm truly blown away by the interest being shown in this story. I've had so many views and subscribes and faves. And some very nice reviews as well! They are all so very appreciated. After all…how else does an author know if their story is being enjoyed without them? Thanks again to everyone…and keep reading! **

**Oh and since I so rudely forgot to do this, I must send out thanks to zevgirl for her inspiration for this chapter. Some days I have no muse, and therefore my readers inspire me!**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Adrianne Avenicci<strong>_

The sun had risen over Whiterun several hours prior, yet long shadows still covered the entrance to Warmaiden's in darkness. For that, Adrianne was thankful. Long hours in front of the forge and furnace were not pleasant under the heat of the midday sun. Though she'd never seen herself in any other life.

She wasn't the best blacksmith in the city, but she was proficient at it, honing her skills to always improve. She had good supplies and good pieces of equipment to use as well. It was doubtful she'd ever run out of business in Whiterun.

Wiping her brow, she stepped back from the tanning rack to look at her latest piece of leather. It would do well for some armour or perhaps a shield. But it could wait until she had some rest. It had been an exhausting morning, as orders had arrived from the Jarl's court for additional equipment for the city guard. She likely had her father to thank for that. After all, what Steward wouldn't promote his own daughter's handiwork to his Jarl? Proventus had been a strong proponent for her work, and she'd never been found wanting for contracts once he had been made Steward to Jarl Balgruuf.

As she dabbed a rag across her brow, she looked north up the long street towards the market of Whiterun. It was a busy day. People milled about here and there; children ran through the city playing with their friends. She smiled to herself, thinking back to her younger days when she had no cares and did the same. But that was a long time ago, and she could no longer afford to have such flights of fancy. She continued to stare up the street until a door opened at a neighbouring home. It was the home of the city's newest Thane.

The woman, Marieka, frequented her shop quite often enough; selling various weapons, or purchasing armours. They never spoke very often however, as she typically dealt with Ulfberth, her husband. She loved him with all that she was and he worshipped the ground that she walked on. Her father had worried about her when she decided to marry the man – not every Nord was willing to put up with an Imperial such as herself. But the two were madly in love and overcame the many obstacles that their partnership placed before them.

Before her thoughts drifted too far into memory, she saw the small Breton exit her home and look around. The woman immediately noticed Adrianne was outside and waved. She waved back, thinking it odd that she'd acknowledge her at all. Stranger still, she began to walk in her direction. She was coming for a visit.

"Lovely morning, isn't it?" she said when she arrived at the door of Warmaiden's.

"Certainly is," she replied. "Listen, Ulfberth is inside if you need—"

"Actually, Adrianne," she interrupted, "I'm here to see you."

"Oh?"

"Well, you might have noticed that I travel quite a bit," she said.

"Yes, you do," the blacksmith replied. "And you bring us some interesting pieces upon your return."

She smiled. "I face some interesting foes. But the reason I'm here is…well…"

Adrianne waited while she hesitated. She looked nervous.

"I wanted to ask you for some help. Maybe…train me a little at what you do?" she finally blurted out.

"You want me…to teach you how to be a blacksmith?" she asked, skeptical at the suggestion.

"I certainly don't want to replace you, if that's what you're thinking," Marieka replied. "I just…I want to know enough for when I'm out on the road. Enough to be able to take care of my equipment. Repair it if necessary. Things like that. I'd still come here whenever I'm in Whiterun. Oh! And I'd pay you for your time, of course!"

Adrianne mulled the idea over for a few moments. It couldn't hurt. And in slim times like these, extra coin was always welcome. She shrugged.

"Why not?" she replied.

The Breton squealed with glee, as if she were a child receiving a present.

"This is fantastic! When can we start?" she asked.

She had expected the woman to be excited, but her enthusiasm was a little overwhelming.

"Tell you what," she began. "I've got several orders to complete this afternoon, but you're welcome to come back after dinner. The forge will be cooler by that time, so you won't be overheated."

"That sounds perfect! Thank you Adrianne! I look forward to it," she replied, hurrying back home.

As Adrianne stood and watched the woman leave, she hoped that she wasn't getting in over her head. She'd never trained anyone before, and was concerned that this whole thing would be a disaster.

* * *

><p>An hour had passed since Marieka had returned to Warmaiden's for her first training session with Adrianne. She suggested they start from scratch – melting down ore to create an ingot. Simple enough.<p>

She demonstrated the smelting process, melting down some silver ore and pouring it slowly into the mold to create the ingot. Marieka watched intently as the woman showed her what to do. Though when it came time to pour the melted liquid into the mold herself, she allowed it to fill too quickly and the mold overflowed to the ground.

_By the gods! This girl is daft!_

"Perhaps smelting isn't your strength," Adrianne suggested, pulling her away from the furnace just before the hot liquid silver that was pooling up near her foot reached her boot.

"I'm sorry," Marieka said. "I…I'm really nervous about this."

"It's okay," she replied. "You'll get the hang of it."

She performed marginally better with the forge. At the very least, she was able to produce a blade from it. They started small – a dagger of steel. She heated the ingot, poured it into the mold – at a much more acceptable rate this time – and then hammered at it to form it properly.

"Not bad," Adrianne said. "Now try sharpening it."

The two women moved towards the grindstone. She showed the Breton how to carefully hold the blade's edge next to the stone while pressing the pedal to spin the wheel. Unfortunately, the blade she created herself was not strong enough to stand up to the stone, and it snapped in half as she attempted to sharpen it.

"This is hopeless," Marieka cried out in exasperation. "I knew this was going to be a challenge, but this…"

"Now just wait a minute," Adrianne interrupted. "Did you expect to be able to do this all on your first try? That's a little insulting. It's taken me years of practicing…of honing my skills to get where I am right now."

Marieka sighed. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to imply that I could pick the skills up so quickly."

"Here," she said, handing Marieka a blade that she had created earlier in the day. "Try sharpening this one. Just go a little slower. You're in too much of a hurry with everything."

Ashamed, she took the blade and sat in front of the grindstone. She began to press the pedal to spin the wheel, and as the woman advised, slowly applied pressure to the blade against the grindstone. She dragged the blade along the stone a little at a time, sharpening the edge roughly. When she had completed both edges, she handed the blade back to Adrianne to inspect.

"Well now," she replied. "See, this is an improvement. Right here on this side, it's quite rough." She pointed to the first edge. "But as you move to the end, and then on the other edge, the blade becomes finer…sharper. There's definitely improvement here."

Marieka's face lit up at the positive comments. "So, I'm not hopeless then? You think some practice will help?"

Adrianne smiled. "Yes, I think you might be able to sharpen your own blade for yourself when you need to…one day."

"Excellent!"

"The sun's going down quickly," Adrianne said. "And I'll need to get inside to help Ulfberth close up the shop. Perhaps we'll call it a day?"

She nodded in agreement. "Thank you again, Adrianne. Oh, and as promised…" She held out a coin pouch with the agreed amount. "There's a…little extra in there for the materials that I was quite certain I would go through. Please let me know if you require more. I know I was a bit of a disaster."

_A bit?_

"Of course," the Imperial replied. "I'm sure I'll see you soon."

"That you will," Marieka replied before hurrying home for the night.

Adrianne chuckled to herself. _Now __**that**__ was an experience…_

* * *

><p>As the sun's rays filtered into Adrianne's bedroom window the next morning, she stretched and tried not to wake her husband as she exited her bed. She wrapped a robe around herself, poured herself a mug of goat's milk and headed downstairs to step outside to greet the morning.<p>

When she opened the door to step on to her porch, she heard a strange noise coming from the side yard where all of her equipment stood. She grabbed a dagger from the wall inside the door and inched her way across the porch to see what the noise could be. As she reached the end of the porch, her eyes fell upon a small form in front of the grindstone.

"Marieka! By the gods! What are you doing?" she exclaimed.

The Breton spun around with a large smile upon her face.

"Practicing!" she called out happily.

_Oh for Zenithar's sake!_

Today was going to be a long day.


	11. Brynjolf IV

**I know a lot of people don't necessarily find dialogue interesting in a story, and so many authors apologize for writing so much of it when it happens. But I adore writing dialogue for these two – their quips and innuendos rock my socks. I will not apologize for writing their dialogue. Ever.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Brynjolf IV<strong>_

"Where is that bloody Nord?"

Mercer's voice echoed through the cistern's expanse as he threw open the door that led to the Ragged Flagon.

"Brynjolf! Where the fuck are you?" he growled.

The 'bloody Nord' in question lifted his head up – barely – from staring into the rippling water in front of him. He lifted his hand up to signal his location to Mercer.

"I'm over here, Mercer. Now quit hollering at me," he replied.

"Oh," he snapped back. "We're just going to laze about with our little toes in the water, are we? Do you think coin rolls into this place because we put on a smile and ask it nicely to?"

"Well, actually," Brynjolf began, "I do have some success with that."

"Shut up," Mercer demanded. "Black-Briar's got her boot on my neck about your dainty Breton recruit and _you_ need to find her!"

He sighed and scratched at his neck distractedly. "I haven't seen her for weeks, Mercer. I've no idea where to find her."

"Word is she's back in town. Spotted going into her house. And considering thieves tend to _not_ use keys…or the front door, it's got to be her," he snorted.

_Marieka? Could she really be back in Riften?_ He hadn't counted the days since she'd left. No, it was nothing like that. But he also hadn't exactly made himself available to the women of this Hold since she'd left either. Not the way he used to. That girl had a rein on him that he didn't want to admit to – yet, he knew it wasn't love. Perhaps that's what made it all the more enticing. A strictly physical relationship that would come and go as it did. _If_ that's the way it was to happen. He had no idea if she'd even wish to see him again. Her intentions were not clear enough when they last spoke.

She left several days after their last encounter. But their interactions since the night she joined the Guild were…apprehensive at best. She seemed distant. Perhaps even a little regretful. He couldn't read what little emotion she allowed to creep on to her face. At the very least, she spoke to him. It wasn't as though she had completely abandoned communication with the man. Yet none of it was what he expected after the moments they'd shared.

Brynjolf suddenly felt a sharp slap to the back of the head.

"Gods!" he exclaimed.

Mercer crouched down next to him and roughly grabbed his shoulder. "When you're finished daydreaming, perhaps you could get your arse off the cold stone and at least _fake_ that you're paying attention to my request."

He grabbed the back of his head angrily and looked at Mercer. "I'm _going_." He lifted himself up from the edge of the walkway and headed to the chest that rested at the foot of his bunk. As he unlocked the chest and rifled through its contents, he could feel Mercer approach him.

"Tell her not to fuck this one up," he cautioned. "_You_ know how important Maven is to the Guild. If anything goes wrong…"

"I'll tell her," Brynjolf replied without taking his eyes off of the contents of the chest. He eventually found what he was looking for and replaced the lid, locking it up tightly. He wondered why he bothered to do this – anyone in the Guild worth their salt would be able to get in anyway. But he hoped at least that there was enough respect among thieves that they'd never dare.

* * *

><p>As he emerged from the underground of Riften into the daylight, Brynjolf shielded his eyes from the sun that was shining more brightly than usual. The fog that typically covered the city in a thick haze had burned off completely, and though there were clouds in the sky, he could count them on one hand. He meandered slowly through the streets, dallying far longer than he should have. If Maven Black-Briar requested the presence of Marieka, he should have made a greater effort to let the woman know. Yet there was uncertainty in his step; hesitation to meet with her again. What would he say to her? They'd not known each other long enough to become friends, yet he found his way into her bed…figuratively speaking. He didn't regret it…not a moment of it. He merely hoped that they hadn't gone so far as to not come back. He wanted to be her friend. Or…was it something else that drove him to her?<p>

_This is ridiculous…_

He scolded himself for acting like a man much less mature and experienced than he was. He was always able to leave feelings out of any 'relationship' he'd gotten himself into. And it seemed that she _wanted_ to leave feelings out of it, but for some reason, the feelings were intertwined so deeply in this that he couldn't peel a single bit of them away. It was strange…this _thing_ he'd found himself in.

In the market, he caught the eyes of several fellow thieves. They were out in force that day, following marks and studying shops for later use as targets. A slight nod or an aversion of eyes was all that was necessary to show their respect to the upper levels of the Guild. It was something that Brynjolf always thought gratuitous, nevertheless was appreciated. Something that he needed to remind him he was still useful. Perhaps it was that very reason that drew him to Marieka – she found him worthy of her time. Like he was still _relevant_. Young lass like that certainly didn't need the approval of an old man like him. He chuckled in spite of himself; if Vex caught him waging this internal war with himself over his age, she'd gut him.

"You're not _that_ bloody old, Brynjolf," she'd remind him. "Sure, your bones break easier and you're starting to creak when you climb the stairs, but you're not dead."

Ah, he regretted not bedding that one in his time. Not that she'd have let him.

He rounded the corner of the Bee and Barb…the corner than put Honeyside into his sight. He continued on over the bridge that crossed the canal that bisected the city, considering just how he'd enter her home. He could use the back door as he did when he didn't even realize it was hers, or…

He could knock. What a novel idea…he wondered when he'd done it last. Most places he visited ended up being accessed through a broken window or with a lockpick. This was almost…civil…

And why not? This was a civil visit. There was nothing particularly dark about it. He could deliver his message during the day. He'd not have to be with her when she _went_ to Maven. No, this was merely a friendly appointment between associates. Friends, even. So he went to the front door.

And stood there.

He lifted his hand to knock at the door, but stopped.

_What am I going to say to her?_ He scratched his head with the raised hand. _I don't have to say anything. I just have to deliver the message. Whatever else is said, will be said…_

And with that, he knocked.

Nothing more than a few seconds passed as he waited, but each felt like an entire epoch has transpired. Ready to turn tail and retreat from his mission, he heard the creak of the door handle as it slowly turned to reveal…

…a woman he had _never_ seen before.

"Yes?"

"I…am…" He backed up for a moment, eyeing the house in front of him suspiciously. "This _is_ the house of the Thane, is it not?"

"Yes," the woman replied. "You address her housecarl. Now what can I do for you?"

"Of course," he replied. _Her housecarl…_ "I seek an audience with the Thane. Can it be granted?"

"It could," she began, "if she were here."

"Oh," he replied, disappointed at the news.

The woman continued to stand in the doorway, almost annoyed at the man's presence.

"Is there…something _else_ I can do for you?"

"Perhaps you know when she'll be back?" he suggested. "Or better yet, would you mind if I waited for her here? I have an important message to deliver to her."

"No."

"So…no to the first or the second?" he asked.

"Nord, you are infuriating," she growled. "What is your message?"

"Well, I cannot give _you_ the message. It is only for Marieka," he said. "Are you sure I cannot wait?"

"No." The door immediately closed.

Brynjolf sighed and made to turn around. As he began to walk away, he heard the door open again.

"What is your name?"

He turned back around. "Brynjolf."

"Well, why didn't you tell me that in the first place? Come. Come in. You cannot wait inside, but there are some comfortable chairs on the porch. I will bring you something to eat," she said.

Somewhat dumbfounded by her sudden change of heart, he followed the woman into the home. She led him through the Breton's bedchamber, and his memories of the night he broke in to find her flooded back. The door to the porch opened and he went through it.

"Here, have a seat, Brynjolf," she said. "My name is Iona. If you need anything, please call for me."

"Wait," he said. "Why did you change your mind about letting me in?"

"Thane's orders," Iona replied. "Though she neglected to mention how handsome you were."

As he sat down, the woman immediately turned around and headed into the kitchen to retrieve some stew and mead for the Thane's guest. When she returned to the porch with it, she said nothing as she placed it on the table next to where he sat. He nodded in appreciation for the hospitality, and she again went into the house, closing the door behind her.

He looked down at the stew she'd brought him. It smelled appetizing enough, the faint whisper of beef and braised vegetables wafting to his nostrils. He took a bite and shrugged. Tasted good enough for him. Better than some of the slop he was sometimes served in the Flagon – not that _that_ said much. But it was tasty. A few mouthfuls of stew and some mead later and he came to the realization that he still had no idea when Marieka would be returning home. Though as Iona appeared to be uncertain of that fact as well, he'd not bother the woman again.

After he finished the meal the woman brought him, he stood up and looked out over Lake Honrich from the porch. She had a fantastic view and he felt almost jealous that he couldn't share it with her. He imagined she'd have absolutely incredible opportunities to view the sun setting over the lake, hoping one day he might be able to catch one or two of those sunsets himself. He looked down towards the water, noticing how clear it was that day. It was amazing what the sun could do to Riften. The normally glum and depressing cityscape was transformed as the sun shone down, sparkling in the reflection of the water and glinting off of the windows of the nearby buildings. In the lake, he could even see fish…whitefish, or perhaps some salmon. He also took note of a large slaughterfish swimming nearby – nasty, those things. He reminded himself to ask her permission to use the boat he saw tied up to her dock sometime. _Ask her permission?_ Oh yes, there was definitely something about this girl.

As Brynjolf gazed across the lake, taking in the natural beauty of the lands that surrounded Riften, he lost track of the time that had passed. If not for the change in shadows on the ground, he'd have thought no time had passed at all. About to turn around to return to his chair, he heard shuffling from the path that led to the dock. He leaned over the rail of the porch to attempt to see the source, and eventually the source came into view.

Marieka was returning home from wherever she had been that day. He was just about to call out to her as she stopped near the boat, but her actions stopped him completely. She threw down her staff and packs and began to pull her gauntlets off. Her boots were next, followed in quick succession by her coat and trousers. Brynjolf raised an eyebrow as she stood on the dock in her underclothes and bent forward to pick up the articles of clothing she'd removed. She placed them all into the boat and seconds later, she dove straight into the water. It had to be frigid – the temperatures in Riften did not lend to casual swimming. Yet she bobbed in the water, seemingly wiping away at her skin. He only noticed as the dirt began to come off of her, but she was filthy. Covered in…something he couldn't tell. It wasn't mere dirt…but soot perhaps. Ash?

When she emerged from the water, he could see her shiver and she quickly retrieved her items from the boat and made her way to the stairs. He wasn't sure whether to stand there as she approached or hide, so he chose the most logical position and hurried to sit back down.

As she reached the top of the stairs, her eyes widened at the sight of him.

"Brynjolf!" she exclaimed. "I…wasn't expecting you."

Her teeth chattered incessantly.

"Lass! What happened to you? You're soaking wet and freezing!" he replied, standing to greet her.

"Yes, well…I'll be right back," she said and hurried into her home. A few moments later, she returned without her clothing and gear, but partially wrapped in a large blanket.

"So…what brings you here?" she asked, still shivering and barefoot.

He approached her and pulled the blanket tighter around her. He rubbed her arms through the blanket in an attempt to warm her. "Lass, you really shouldn't be out here like this. You need to dry and get changed."

She nodded and noticed the empty bowl and tankard that sat on the table. "Have you been here long?"

"I've barely noticed the time passing," he replied, as she held the door to her home open to him. He walked through and into the bed chamber. "Can I start a fire for you in here?"

She shook her head. "Won't be necessary," she replied, holding out a hand towards the hearth. As the flame spread from her palm to the logs in the hearth, they caught and the room lit up. Its warmth began to radiate almost immediately.

"Ah, a talent most unappreciated," he said.

She smiled. "Give me a moment, will you?"

"Of course," he replied.

She walked towards the kitchen and he could hear her speak to Iona.

"Please, take the rest of the day off, Iona. I'm sure you have family or friends you must not have seen for some time."

"Of course, my Thane. Will you be all right?"

"Yes, of course. In fact, why don't you take the night and the morning of tomorrow off as well? Return as you see fit."

Brynjolf's eyebrow rose at her words. Just what did she plan to be up to for the next day?'

He heard some shuffling – he assumed it was Iona preparing herself to leave – followed by footsteps and the closing, and _locking_, of the front door. The soft padding of Marieka's footsteps eventually returned to the bedchamber and he leaned back suavely against the wall from where he sat on a long bench.

"So…giving the housecarl the day off, are we?"

"Yes, well…she's been guarding the house while I've been away. And now that I'll be here, it's only right that I give her some time to herself," she replied curtly. "I suspect you believe I have other intentions."

"Me? No," he replied. "Wouldn't dream of thinking otherwise."

"So, you're here for a reason," she said, absently dropping the blanket to fall around her ankles. She picked up a much smaller blanket nearby and began rubbing it against her hair to dry it. He couldn't help but notice that her underclothes were not leaving much to the imagination. She may as well have been naked for the dark mass of hair that showed through or the nipples made hard by the freezing water that made their presence known under the thin cloth. He felt himself stiffen at the sight. He licked his lips to prevent his rapidly drying mouth from sticking together as he thought of what words he wished to speak to her.

"Brynjolf?"

"Yes, lass?"

"Are you going to tell me why you're here?" she asked. "Or were you just planning on staring at me until my clothes were completely off?"

He smiled slyly, recognizing she'd caught him. "How I've missed you," he said.

"And I, you," she replied. "But that still doesn't change the fact that you apparently have something to tell me." She removed the blanket from her hair, now wildly strewn about her head from the attempts to dry it. She bent forward to retrieve the large blanket from the floor and offered him a tantalizing view of her breasts as they spilled forward from the cloth that covered them.

He expelled a breath sharply through his teeth. "Yes…I bring a message from Maven Black-Briar. She wishes to see you."

"Maven?" she repeated, readjusting the blanket to cover her completely. "What does she want with me?"

"I've no idea. She never tells us what she wants; only _who_ she wants," she replied. "And she apparently wants you."

"She doesn't seem to be the only one," she quipped sharply, motioning towards his belt. The hardness in his trousers was becoming quite obvious.

"Ah well, you see, lass," he began, readjusting his position. "You can't just come waltzing into your own home with nary a stitch of clothing on when there's a visitor about."

"It _is_ my house," she reminded him.

He stood and approached where she was, standing in front of her. "Of course," he said, his finger falling to the narrow piece of cloth that sat between her breasts. "And yet, here we are."

"And where exactly is that?" she asked, looking up at him. "Because, I'm not sure if we were clear on that when we last saw each other."

He stepped back from her. "Do you…not wish me to be here?"

"Brynjolf, if I didn't wish you in my home, would I have advised my housecarl to allow you entry?"

He sighed. "Woman, you give nothing but mixed signals!" he exclaimed in frustration.

"I'd prefer you not to think my bed is so easy to enter," she replied with a smile. "And isn't the thrill of the hunt more enticing?"

The way she narrowed her eyes at him was…so seductive. Everything within him told him to attack the girl…to pounce on her and make her succumb to the yearning that had accumulated in the weeks since he'd last seen her. But he held back and merely took one step towards her. He took her chin in his hand and lifted her face up towards him.

"Glad to have you back, lass."

"Now go…get out of here while I change out of these wet things," she scolded. He exited her room and fell heavily into a chair in the kitchen.

"Do you wish for me to wait?" he asked.

"Yes, actually," she called out from the other room. "I need to stop by the marketplace for some supplies. Would you join me?"

He looked around the kitchen, his eyes settling on the very well-stocked pantry. "Uh…supplies? If you're sure you need them. Of course I'll join you."

"Good," she replied. "I could use a big, strong Nord like you to help me carry my purchases."

He shook his head. He didn't think he'd ever figure the Breton out. "You know, you never did tell me why you were all wet."

"Jumped in the lake," she replied. "I was…dirty."

His chuckling to her response prompted her to stick her head out of the door while she finished changing. Her hair at least had been tamed.

"Well, I was!" she replied. "Covered in all kinds of soot and…I mean, just dirt from…I was just dirty."

She entered the kitchen, mostly dressed and carrying her boots. She sat in the chair across from him and pulled one on. He eyed her as she began the arduous task of tying it up.

"Soot? From a fire?" he asked.

"No, I mean, just dirt," she replied quickly. "Listen, it doesn't matter. I needed to get clean. Why do you care?"

He shrugged. "Just heard about some recent dragon attacks 'round here. One of the local farmers lost their entire crop of potatoes a few days back. And some cattle. Tough times."

"Oh."

"I just wouldn't want to hear that you'd been involved in something like that," he said.

"It's lovely to know you care so much, Brynjolf," she said, pulling on the other boot and tying it up.

"I'd miss you, is all," he said, albeit uncomfortably. "I mean, you have to admit, lass…we did have some fun that night."

"That we did. Well, you've no fear. I wouldn't get myself involved in such things. I have trouble enough with wolves and bears and _normal_ wildlife in my travels," she said.

"Speaking of which," he replied, "why are you travelling alone again?"

"I haven't had a chance to hire anyone to come with me to Riften yet," she said quietly. "I can't very well bring…"

"No, of course not," he replied, knowing who she alluded to. "Yet there are plenty of sellswords who'd gladly watch your back. Myself included."

"You're no sellsword, Brynjolf," she replied, finally sitting up in the chair. "Besides, your place is here…with the Guild."

He sighed. She was right. There weren't too many places in Skyrim that would be willing to take on an old thief. And it was comfortable here in Riften for him. People tended to look the other way where he was concerned – at least as long as he didn't cross them.

He watched as she stood up and opened a strongbox on the shelf. She retrieved a small coin pouch and turned back to face him.

"Ready?"

He nodded and stood.

"Good. For it's a beautiful day in Riften, and I can think of no one else I'd rather spend the afternoon with," she said, smiling widely at him.

They exited the home and she locked the door behind them. She stood next to him for a moment, considering where to head first.

"Perhaps I should stock up on potions and the like first," she suggested.

He immediately placed his hand at the small of her back and she looked up at him. She gave him a small smile before taking her first step forward. It seemed that she simply appreciated his touch, if nothing else.

They walked around, browsing at the shops both near the canal and above the pier. She was a discriminating buyer, using her wits to ensure she received a good deal, yet never really swindling any of the shop keeps either. She was fair. He supposed it was due to the fact that she was Thane – she couldn't be seen as duplicitous or deceitful by the people she represented. Or at least that was the way a Thane was _supposed_ to behave. Marieka was probably the first Thane in a long while to _not _behave in an unsavoury manner.

As her packs quickly filled up, they began to make the journey back through the market slowly. He relished in her company, simply enjoying her conversation for the time. He sensed that she didn't seem to be in a hurry to return home either; and so their steps dawdled.

At several points, Brynjolf's guard was raised as he noticed people quietly standing to the side as the pair passed, watching them. Some whispered to each other. He became concerned for a moment, not wishing to discredit her position in the city. A Thane with a common criminal was likely not a proper sight; yet he wondered how many of them knew that she was also a thief.

He shook off the worry and continued to walk with her. Just as he was about to ignore the looks and whispers for good, a pair of guards approached them quickly. They were cornered on the walkway where they stood, as other guards came up from behind them.

"You!" one of the guards shouted, pointing at her.

Brynjolf's hand was immediately at his dagger, ready to defend her if need be. But no one paid him any mind. All eyes were focused on Marieka.

"You were at the attack. You helped take down the dragon," the guard exclaimed.

"No," she replied, shaking her head. "You're mistaken."

"No," came a voice from behind. "I was there too. We all were. We saw what you did."

She spun around and looked at the guards as they stood round her. None of them had weapons drawn. Brynjolf was nervous, but more so confused. _What do they want?_

"Look, I'm sure this is all a case of mistaken identity," he interjected.

The first guard who had spoken ignored him, and approached her carefully – almost reverently. He took her hand and looked at her as she practically recoiled in horror. "It was you. You are the one the rumours have spoken of. I'd never have believed it if I didn't see it, but you…absorbed it!"

She pulled her arm back from the guard and pushed past them. Brynjolf followed close behind, nearly knocking the two guards to the ground. When he reached her, he grabbed for her arm and pulled her back. When she spun around to look at him, he saw it. Fear. Her eyes were full of it.

"Marieka," he said. "What…are you?"

She stood frozen for a moment, looking at him.

From behind him, the chatter from the guards rose up until it formed a single clear word…

"Dragonborn…"

She squeezed her eyes shut at the sound of it. She yanked her arm away from him and ran. As fast as she could, she ran.

Leaving Brynjolf, once again, standing alone in the crowd.


	12. Brynjolf V

**Sorry about the cliffhanger folks. Really. But I had to break this whole thing into two. And this portion has taken me forever to get through. I found myself stuck on a particular scene. I think you'll know which one when you get to it.**

**Yup. I'm trying again. Seriously...it didn't start out this way, I promise you.**

**So this one's rated M for s'more sexual situations. Go easy on me. This one's pretty near and dear to my heart because it's the first time I haven't skipped out on a lot. Good grief…I hope it turned out better than I expect it did.**

**Oh, and that **_**dreaded**_** conversation! Why does everyone need to know about the past?**

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><p><em><strong>Brynjolf V<strong>_

It was the second time that day that he had found himself standing at Marieka's doorstep…hesitating. To be honest, he wasn't even sure if she were inside. He hadn't chased her when she ran off after the confrontation with the guards. He didn't think that would be what she wanted. He wasn't even sure if she'd have wanted him there at that moment, but he had to try. She couldn't be alone – it wasn't right.

Is this what she had been running from since he'd met her?

He moved towards the railing that allowed a view of Lake Honrich and leaned against it, staring off at nothing in particular. The day that had been beautiful, clear and full of sunshine was starting to change – a typical occurrence for Riften. He could see the clouds rolling in across the lake, headed towards the city. Soon enough it would be raining and the fog would form again, ushering in the darkness of night.

He turned around and stared at the door again. He doubted she'd even respond if he knocked. He looked up towards the sky for a moment, wondering why he kept debating about this. He should just…knock.

As he looked ahead down the path between Honeyside and the bunkhouse it neighboured, he noticed something moving around in what appeared to be her property's side yard. He inclined his neck to the side to see past the obstruction of a small stone fence, but whatever had moved was gone. Creeping quietly towards the yard, he quickly crouched down until he reached the fence. Slowly, he stood up to peer over the fence to see…_a chicken?_ Talos, he was chasing a chicken now? He shook his head, but as he watched the bird briefly, he noticed its surroundings. Marieka had a small garden full of vegetables and flowers – no doubt useful in both cooking and alchemy. He surveyed the plants when one caught his eye. Its petals blazed the colour of flames and it appeared to have a small bird flying out of its centre. It was something he'd rarely seen, especially in Riften. He walked towards the plant and snapped one of its stems off. He wasn't going to be romantic…and he didn't know if she was the type of woman who liked to be presented with gifts of flowers, but by the gods, if he could take her mind off of what had just transpired for a moment, then it would be worth it.

He returned to the front door of her home, took a deep breath and knocked on the door. Not too loudly, but not quietly enough to be missed. When some time had passed with no response, he tried again. Louder this time. More insistent.

Still nothing…

"Marieka!" he called through the door. "I know you're in there. Please let me in. I just want to talk to you…"

_Actually, I don't know if you're in there. If I really wanted, I could let myself in. And to be honest, there are a few things that don't involve talking I could think of if you really want to forget what happened…_

He gripped the flower in his hand loosely as he continued to wait.

"Come on, lass. I still have your supplies from the market out here."

He fidgeted nervously, trying to avoid the gaze of a passing guard.

Yet still…no answer…

He pressed up close to the door and lowered his voice.

"Marieka. Please."

The sound of shuffling could be heard from within.

"Go away, Brynjolf."

He heaved a sigh of relief. _At least I know she's here…_

"Why won't you let me in, lass?" he asked.

A pause...

"Why do you need me to let you in? Why don't you just break in like you did the first time?" she spat through the door.

"Ouch. That one hurt."

"So tell me you don't deserve it," she replied.

"I'm not saying I didn't," he said.

He pulled away from the door slightly. She continued to remain silent.

"Can I at least bring your supplies in? If you don't want me to stay once I've done that, then I'll go," he offered. It would at least give him a chance to try…_some_thing…

Several long moments later, the door handle turned and the door slowly opened. She stood inside, holding the door open, but did not look at him. He bent over and picked up the supplies he'd been carrying for her when she'd run off from him and entered the house.

"Thank you," he said. He looked at her – her eyes were bloodshot. She'd had plenty of time to cry. He hadn't immediately gone to her home after she ran. Instead he found a bench in the market and sat down on it, replaying what had happened. Gods only know how long he sat there.

Rather than commenting on the obvious, he continued into the house. Despite not having any idea where anything was supposed to go, he began to unpack her purchases, finding new homes for each of the items along the way.

He tried not to notice as she all but glared at him from the door.

"I suppose you aren't going to be leaving anytime soon," she said, though not necessarily to him. Without waiting for his response, she pushed the door hard, letting it slam shut.

As he continued to place items where he saw fit, he noticed that she was shadowing his movements and correcting their placement in frustration. He smiled to himself and stifled a chuckle. He didn't mean to laugh at her expense, but her movements had all been accompanied by groans and growls that he couldn't help but find terribly charming. Eventually she grabbed a rather small phial of some sort of concoction out of his hands and pushed him aside.

"Just…_leave_ it," she hissed through her teeth.

He attempted with all he had in him to keep a straight face when she glared at him, but his façade was starting to crack. She stopped with clenched fists and looked at him dead on.

"Oh, this is funny now?"

"I have to admit, lass…it is a little bit funny," he replied.

She growled and looked away from him, suddenly noticing the flower he'd placed on the table.

"Well aren't you just _full_ of jokes today?" She picked up the flower and shoved it into his face. "How could you? After everything you just saw, how could you bring this in here?"

She looked to be on the verge of tears; her lip trembled as she stared at him.

"Marieka, what's wrong? I…what do you mean? Do you not like flowers?" he sputtered, uncertain why she was enraged over the flower.

"Dragon's tongue, Brynjolf? Really?" she exclaimed. "Out of anyone, I never imagined that you'd be so cruel."

"I didn't know that's what it was…I wouldn't have brought it if…" he whispered hoarsely, letting his statement fall incomplete.

She tossed the flower to the ground and stormed off towards her bedchamber, but he reached for her arm and caught her by the wrist before she made it out of his grasp. As gently as he could, he grabbed her other wrist and pulled her towards him, wrapping his arms around her and holding her in place. He felt her anger manifest into shakes and sobs as she protested his hold and beat her small fists against his chest.

"I didn't want you to know…you weren't ever supposed to know. This was going to be my one place…my _one place_ where I was just a girl. Just a Breton girl. Why does this curse have to plague me like this? Why can't I just be…"

Her voice trailed off as she wept into his chest. Her fingers gripped his coat tightly and she would have collapsed to the floor had he not held her up. He felt helpless. What answers did she seek? Was he even to be the one to give her those answers? She was pouring her heart out to him and he couldn't even come up with a single word in response.

So he continued to hold her tight. He ran his hand lightly atop her head, stroking her hair softly. Gods, it felt incredible to be so close to her again. Under better circumstances perhaps…it could have been so much more.

He leaned his head forward, bringing his mouth close to the side of her head. "Marieka…I'm sorry…"

She continued to sob and began to shake her head.

"No," she said quietly, trying to force back the tears. "No, it's not your fault. I shouldn't have…my anger, I shouldn't have taken this out on you. I'm the one who should be sorry."

He pulled back from her, placing his hands at the side of her face. "You take out whatever you need to on me. You remember that, lass. I'm here to be whatever you need me to be."

She closed her eyes as he pulled her under his arm and led her to a nearby chair. He sat her down and retrieved another chair for himself, pulling it directly across from where she sat. As he sat on the edge of it, he leaned forward and took her hands into his. She looked back up at him.

"I didn't mean to yell at you. You've always been so kind to me. What a way to repay that kindness," she muttered.

He shook his head. "Aye lass, but you forget that I was going to rob you blind when we first met."

A glimmer of a smile met her lips. "Yes, I remember."

"See now, that's better. You're so pretty when you smile," he said, placing a hand at her cheek momentarily.

"Brynjolf, I…I didn't want to tell you what I was. I never wanted you to know," she said sadly.

"Why? Why didn't you want me to know?" he asked.

"Because, you…never expected anything beyond what you saw. You treated me _normally_. You don't look at me like I have another head. You don't look at me with fear in your eyes like some of the others do…as though I'm going to shout them to death just because I can. Even…" – she paused, sighing – "…even Onmund can't help but look fearful most days. It's never the same once people know. And I didn't want things to change. I was _happy _with the way things were."

"Things don't have to change," he said. "Nothing has to change at all."

"But it will," she protested. "It always does."

"Marieka…look at me," he said. She looked into his eyes, nervous about what she'd find. "Do you see fear? Do you see anything there that wasn't there before?"

After a moment, she shook her head.

"And what makes you think that will change tonight? Or tomorrow? Or a fortnight from now?" he asked.

"I just…"

"Listen," he interrupted. "I told you I would give you the escape you needed. And I meant that. Don't go running from me now, just because I know something more about you than you wanted me to. I'm here for you, Marieka. I will be as long as you need me."

Without a second's hesitation, she stepped from her seat and leapt towards him, throwing her arms around his neck; her legs landing on either side of his. Her lips claimed his immediately. Shocked by her action, it took Brynjolf a moment to reconcile what had just happened, but he quickly recovered. He felt her hands move up into his hair as his moved to her hips. She placed hurried kisses on his neck, pulling herself closer to him, but then…stopped.

He felt her forehead drop to his shoulder, and he pulled back from her a bit. He placed his hand on the back of her head gently.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She looked up at him. "Nothing," she replied. "I…I should go to Maven. She'll not like to be kept waiting any longer than she has to."

"No," he began, "I suppose not." He paused as she lifted herself off of him awkwardly. "Perhaps you'll stop by the Flagon when you've finished with her?"

"Oh," she said, disappointment in her voice. "I…suppose I could do that."

"Lass, you don't have to if you don't want to," he advised.

"I guess I just hoped that…you might stay here until I returned." Her eyes were full of something he'd not seen for a while from her. Hope.

"You don't mind?" he asked. "Because to be honest, I'd rather not head back there yet. Mercer's in another of his foul moods and I'm liable to have my head bit off if I return with no news from you about Maven."

"I don't mind at all. Provided you don't steal anything from me," she said, narrowing her eyes at him. For a moment, he thought she was serious. It was then that he realized she _was_.

"Ah, I lost my desire to do that to you a long time ago," he admitted. "Besides, you're with the Guild now. We don't cross each other. That's not the way of things."

She smiled briefly. She looked down and picked up the flower that she'd thrown to the ground earlier. "I'm sorry again about…this," she said. "This was a…very nice gesture. It is a really interesting flower."

"It seems full of secrets," he replied. "Just like you."

"We all have our secrets, Brynjolf," she said. "Some of us just aren't as lucky about keeping them."

He reached out for her hand and squeezed it as she stood in front of him. "Good luck with Maven," he said. "I'll be here when you get back."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

* * *

><p>Sometime after Marieka left to meet with Maven, Brynjolf had finished putting the rest of her supplies away – hoping at least that he had found better homes for them than previously. He wandered around her small home, eyeing some of the items she'd collected since she purchased it. There were all manner of interesting weapons and books and scads of alchemical ingredients about the house.<p>

She was hardly here – he had no idea why she had so much _junk_ just laying around. He considered that she was lucky she had joined the Guild. Place like this would have unquestioningly been a huge target.

He continued to look around, his eyes falling upon her bed. It looked incredibly inviting and he pushed down on it a little. It gave way as he applied pressure to it, yet it did not yield completely. It was tempting him to crash down on to it; to stretch out across it and just rest. And why not? With Maven Black-Briar, Marieka could be gone for hours, sent off on some ridiculous task to satisfy the woman's whims and demands for immediate resolution.

He lowered himself until he was sitting at the edge of the bed. It _was_ comfortable. Much more so than the bunk he slept in nightly. Or rather, tossed and turned in nightly. It couldn't hurt to close his eyes for a few moments while she was off meeting with Maven. But it wouldn't do to keep his boots on. He'd dirty the linens – which would be incredibly rude of him. He eased them off and placed them against the wardrobe. He pushed himself further back on to the bed, lifting his legs up and extending them across it. As he stretched out, he lay back slowly, his head landing on a soft pillow. The bed was an experience that he rarely had; only finding it during rare conquests of particularly wealthy marks. Riften's walls didn't hold many of those anymore, and as second to the Guild, he rarely travelled. This…_this_ was an experience he was treasuring.

There was a small fire in the nearby hearth that spread warmth throughout the room, and as he lay there, his eyes closed. He put his arms behind his head and sighed.

_I could become accustomed to this…_

* * *

><p><em>I didn't want to tell you what I was. I never wanted you to know.<em>

His eyes opened.

He had never felt so warm and comfortable in a long time. He was under a blanket and furs, and the dim light of burning embers caught his eye. He rubbed at his eyes, yawning a little and began to take in his surroundings. Then he remembered where he was – Marieka's bed. Oh, he was right about this bed. He had no idea how long he slept, but the bed was so comfortable, it felt like hours. He rolled over and could see no light filtering in through the windows, so night had fallen at least. He continued to roll and his eyes fell upon her form, silhouetted by the light of a dying candle. She was partially under the cover, with a fur draped over her shoulders. Still in a seated position, a book lay in her lap, but she had long since fallen asleep while reading it. He smiled, thinking it was likely something she did often. Her head was slumped over after her neck had given up on holding it straight. Strands of hair shimmered where they lay across her face as weak candlelight beside her and the fading fire in the hearth merged and their light danced shadows upon her.

Carefully, so not to disturb her, he elevated himself slightly, moving the book from where it sat on her lap and placing it on the bedside table. He slid his arms under her back and her legs, easing her down until she was no longer sitting, but laying down with her head on a pillow. The sleeping robe she wore barely reached her lower thighs and was tied loosely at her waist, causing him to start momentarily when he noticed. Her breath sputtered quietly and she moaned a little in response to the movement, but quickly settled back into sleep. He thought to leave her there so she would sleep, and slipped out from under the covers.

As the fire died, so too did the heat from the room. Brynjolf noticed a small pile of logs piled next to the hearth and moved to pick some of them up to rebuild the fire for her. When he had managed to position them so they had caught, the flames grew a little, brightening the room. The light seemed to elicit a response from her as well, for he heard something of a whisper from her direction. As he stood up, he turned and looked at her, sleeping sweetly. Again, he turned to leave, but hesitated when he thought of the robe she barely wore. And the hours that remained until her housecarl returned to her.

It was _too_ tempting for him to consider leaving any further…

He moved back towards the bed, unfastening his coat and removing it. He tossed it to the floor as he pulled back the covers and entered the bed beside her. He moved close to her, listening to her near-silent breathing; paying close attention to the rise and fall of her chest. It was mesmerizing. Brushing back errant strands of hair that insisted upon falling into her eyes, his hand lingered on the side of her face. He drew his finger along her jawline and up to her mouth, tracing along her lips softly. His fingertips fell back down to her neck, finding the edge of her robe and tracing it down towards her chest; his hand lightly resting upon her breast. She stirred at his touch; permitting a sigh to escape her lips.

He brought his lips towards her face, kissing her tenderly at her temple. As his breath ghosted across her skin, he moved his lips down her face and kissed her cheek. He continued moving lower down her body, kissing her jawline…her neck… He crouched low over her and pulled back the robe exposing her shoulder, and his lips also found their way there. He moved back in towards her, placing another kiss on her collarbone before bringing his lips in between her breasts. He heard her breathe in sharply at the very moment he felt her hands bury themselves into his hair. He looked up at her face and their eyes met.

"Brynjolf," she gasped and he smiled in the dim light.

He placed his hands on the bed on either side of her, repositioning himself over her and straddling one of her legs. He hovered above her for moments, when he thought he felt her tugging on his hair effectively drawing him back towards her. He quickly obliged. Propped up on one arm, he pulled the tie of her robe completely undone and moved the edges of it away from covering her. He looked down upon her, the firelight flickering just bright enough for shadows to play across her exposed body. Diving back down to place kisses across her breasts, his hands roamed purposefully. One hand guided his mouth; the other traced lines up and down her side. She twitched and shuddered in his grasp. Her squirms drove him to further action, and his kisses soon blazed a path down her belly.

Brynjolf reflected on how quiet she was at that moment; he'd never known her to not speak and supposed she was still attempting to come awake fully from her slumber. Yet when she _did_ whisper his name between the panted breaths, it sent a tingle through him all the more. It was as though she spoke to the very gods themselves. As he lifted himself over her, he found himself in between her knees. His hands moved to her thighs, gently plying them apart. She offered little resistance and he felt her shiver in response.

From his vantage, he looked up the length of her body at her. Her fingers had gripped the head of the bed and she looked back at him while he paused. Her eyes were wide in anticipation, uncertain of what to expect. He moved in, kissing along her inner thigh as he went; the heat from her core emanating on to his face. He could sense her apprehension in the way her muscles tensed against him. He was well versed in using his mouth to appreciate the female form, yet he recognized that this was clearly new territory for her. When his tongue found its destination, she gasped. The cry was like music to his ears and he continued to prod at her intimately while she squealed with delight. When he pulled back to catch his breath, he felt her hands pull him back in.

_Well now, lass…it would appear you might be enjoying this…_

She had all but wrapped her legs around his neck when he began to make his way back up her body. Her small hands grasped at his skin, pulling him quickly towards her. He reached down, loosening the belt and clasps to his trousers, pulling them away from his waist. When she saw him struggling with his clothes, she reached down to help push them away from him. She appeared anxious; desperate to have him close to her. Through both of their efforts, he managed to free himself of the trousers and immediately tossed them aside. She had pulled her arms out of her robe and wrapped them around his neck. He kneeled in front of her as she pulled herself up towards him and her legs encircled his waist. Their mouths met and he kissed her with a renewed hunger.

Brynjolf saw no further sense in delaying the inevitable. He slid into her, holding her hips and pushing into her as far as he could. Her head fell backwards and she cried out – it was near a growl. It sent a nervous excitement coursing through his veins and his pace quickened. It was only the second time they had joined like this, but it felt like the most natural thing in the world. He squeezed her to him as he continued to thrust into her; the two falling back on to the bed. She looked into his eyes as he hovered above her, reaching up to wipe sweat from his brow. The way she looked at him...submissive..._obedient_...as though she'd do _any_thing he asked her. It pushed him over the edge and headlong into release. He shuddered above her, grunting with a final push. He held himself over her as long as he could; finally falling down on the bed beside her.

When their breaths stabilized, he looked over at her, reaching out to take hold of the hand that she rested on her stomach. She replied to the movement with a smile.

"I...phew," she breathed heavily. "I've never...I mean...Onmund has never..."

"Careful, lass," he interrupted. "Comparisons lead us to tread in dangerous waters."

"It's not meant to compare," she replied. "He simply has never...done that..."

Brynjolf looked up at the ceiling, a sly smile spreading upon his face. "Is he your first, then?"

Despite not looking at her, he could tell she shook her head.

"No," she said, emphasizing that she'd responded non-verbally. "I was fifteen the first time. There was a boy that I grew up with in Wayrest. A year or two older than me. He was the son of a local fisherman. I..."

He sensed her hesitation. "Go ahead."

"I was very...fond of him. So there was one night that he asked me if I would lay with him. And I was madly in love with him. Why would I have refused?" she recalled. "It was awkward...and _terrible_...and after...he ridiculed me. I was...devastated. He'd broken my heart. I vowed that I'd never let myself fall in love so easily again."

"And did you?"

She pondered for a moment. "No, I don't think so. Marriage came a little too quickly, I think. But love? That was quite natural actually."

"It often is," he said, a hint of regret in his voice. "At least, when you know enough to understand what love is."

She propped herself up on an elbow and looked at him. "You told me you never married. But perhaps I asked the wrong question. Have you ever been in love, Brynjolf?"

"Aye," he said softly, glancing at her. "That I have."

She waited for him to continue. He didn't.

"I won't pry," she advised, "but, should you wish to discuss it..."

"Marieka, I don't mean to be evasive. I just..." His voice trailed off and he was thankful she took it as a signal to not push. Instead, she moved closer to him, curling her small frame under his arm. She pulled some of the furs up to cover them both. He leaned toward her, placing a careful kiss on her forehead. "Why did you come to Skyrim?"

"The College," she responded. "I didn't want to just join the Mages Guild in High Rock. I wanted to learn. Perhaps even one day teach magic. And, I suppose to escape. I've always been running from something."

He didn't ask what she ran from – he'd learned enough of what she was trying to escape that day.

"I suppose I should be happy that you haven't run from me, lass," he said.

She squeezed him tightly. "You are who I run to...not from."

He returned her embrace and sighed. "I've learned not to hold regrets, but I wonder what would have transpired had you come to Riften before Winterhold."

Their eyes met and he knew instantly that she understood where his thoughts were leading. But instead of responding, she changed the subject.

"I...have been considering that I should speak to Onmund about...this."

"Are you sure that's wise?" he asked.

"I don't know," she replied honestly. "I think he wonders. And I don't want him to. And I don't want him to feel guilt for what I know he's done. I want him to know that it's okay and that I understand. And then, perhaps we can discuss other things."

"What other things?"

"Whether we should remain," she began. "I believe...I mean, I _think_ we should. It feels that we should. But perhaps that's not for me to decide. Perhaps he wishes to choose another path. And shouldn't he be given that option?"

He looked at her for a moment, stunned into silence. Despite all her indecision, her clarity could be astounding at times. How does one with so little experience seem to exude wisdom in matters such as these?

"Perhaps that course of action is wiser than I thought," he finally admitted. "And where does that leave us?"

She sighed heavily. "I'm afraid that is a gamble. If he wishes for me to stay...and to end this...what choice have I?"

"There's always a choice, Marieka," he advised. "Whether we make the right one is another question altogether."

Silence overtook them. Her crisis of conscience began to weigh heavily upon him. In the very real chance that the worst case scenario occurred, this...relationship...whatever this was...would be over. He wasn't certain if he was fine with that. To him, that indicated that something was happening regarding his feelings for her. Those feelings that weren't supposed to have existed in the first place. And he wondered if what she was considering meant that she had started to develop some feelings of her own.

Her words from earlier in the day took on new meaning as they echoed in his head.

_I didn't want you to know…you weren't ever supposed to know._


	13. Farkas

**As I sat writing this chapter today, I flipped over to my e-mail occasionally and was overwhelmed by the attention and love this story is getting. There have been so many favourites and alerts that popped up as I wrote this, let alone the ones that came before. I appreciate each and every one of them. To those of you who have reviewed, I hope that you know that I melt a little inside whenever I see that review alert message notification. I become a giddy little fangirl. Seriously. I've never had a story be so well received by so many people. You guys rock.**

**It should also be noted that this isn't the way the quest works out. I am well aware of that. Just a little creative license I'm taking.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Farkas<strong>_

The moment the girl walked into the hall of Jorrvaskr, he knew that he had seen her before. It took some time, but Farkas eventually recalled where he remembered her from. Months ago, the Companions – of which he was a part – were tasked with responding to a complaint from Severio Pelagia. The man reported a giant had been harassing him and attacking him as he worked on his farm. He'd not been able to work the land for weeks and his cabbage crop was close to eradication. Aela and Ria joined him, making the short hike south to the farm to investigate and ultimately deal with the massive pest.

As luck would have it, Severio had noticed the giant had a particular pattern, and shortly after the three arrived at the farm, it wandered on to the man's property just as he predicted. It was a fierce foe and despite their incredible prowess in battle, gave the Companions some trouble. The gargantuan creature caught Ria's leg with its massive club, hobbling her and sending her reeling backwards. With its attention on the wounded woman, Aela seized the opportunity to launch a volley of arrows, striking her target several times in its leg. Farkas was also able to attack the giant, moving in close and slicing a swath down its back with his broadsword.

While the two weaved in and out as if in a dance with the huge creature, a crackle of energy hurtled past Farkas' ear, striking the giant in its chest. His concentration thrown, he spun around to see a young woman in the distance – apparently the source of the magic. He returned his attention to the giant and they continued to battle with it until at last, one of Aela's arrows struck it in the throat. The great creature staggered for a moment, gasping for breath before crashing unceremoniously to the ground. Farkas leaned forward, regaining his stamina following the skirmish, but Aela seemed invigorated by the presence of the stranger.

"You there!" she called out.

The woman approached the pair warily. "I apologize if I intruded," she said.

"Nonsense, mage," Aela replied. "We welcome your assistance."

"It appears your friend may require more," the woman said, motioning to wear Ria writhed in pain. "I know some healing magic. It will not be perfect, but I may be able to ease her pain enough to allow her to walk with assistance."

Aela nodded, permitting the woman to pass them and approach Ria. The two watched as she knelt down before the Imperial, carefully examining her leg. She looked back over her shoulder at them. "I'm Marieka, by the way."

"Aela. This is Farkas and the woman who doesn't much care for your introductions right now is Ria," she said with a smirk. Ria shot her an angry look as she winced from the pain.

"While it is lovely to meet you, I will need some help. Farkas? Can you please hold her still? I will need to set the bone."

He quickly approached the two, crouching behind Ria and helping her sit back against him. With his hands on her shoulders, he looked up at Marieka and nodded. He got a very good look at the markings on her face. Where Aela painted marks across her face before battle, this woman had a pattern of dark colouring around her eyes and on her chin permanently. He thought it strange that someone would choose to mark themselves in such a manner that would endure.

She nimbly repositioned the snapped leg and immediately summoned a healing spell to ease the woman's pain. Permanent growth of the bone would take much more time and she was spent from the attack on the giant, so she looked around for something she could reinforce her attempt to mend the leg with. Finding nothing truly suitable, she requested that Farkas attempt to split the giant's club to create a splint. He obliged and she quickly secured it to the woman's leg.

"I would recommend that you try to keep your weight off of that leg as best you can," Marieka advised Ria, who nodded, looking very grateful for the assistance. She looked at Aela and Farkas. "Are you heading to Whiterun?"

They both nodded.

"I'm headed there myself. Would you mind if I joined you? I can perhaps help carry what Ria cannot," she suggested.

Farkas looked at Aela who shrugged at him. "Don't see why not," she replied. "Ria could certainly use the help."

They prepared to leave for the city, but not before Severio showered them with praise and coin. Farkas helped Ria to her feet and acted as a crutch for her, allowing her to hop alongside him for the duration of the journey home. Marieka was true to her word, carrying Ria's weapons and gear, despite treading awkwardly from the additional burden.

"You know, Marieka," Aela began, "we could use someone like you."

"Oh?" she replied. "Do you three often find yourself out fighting giants?"

"There are many more than three of us in Whiterun," Farkas said. "We are a group of warriors and hunters. Our order has been around for generations. A fighter must prove their worth to become a Companion."

"If you're interested, come with us to Jorrvaskr. Speak to our Harbinger, Kodlak Whitemane. He will judge you worthy if you are suitable," Aela suggested.

But the woman parted ways with the three when they entered the gates of the city. She'd apparently changed her mind to have shown up without warning, so many months later. It was definitely her. Farkas would know those markings anywhere.

He eyed her from afar, watching as she looked around and tried to get someone's attention. She approached the hall's caretaker, Tilma. The weathered old woman listened to her speak then pointed across the hall – in the direction of Kodlak Whitemane. _So she __**is**__ here to join us…_

Farkas was uncertain that she would be suitable. He knew of the tests that she would face. And while she was obviously a capable mage, he'd yet to see her use any steel. Skill in battle was not always dependent upon combat in close quarters, but the Companions were fighters. They brawled; they did not depend upon the conjuration of magical properties from their fingertips. He just didn't see how she would even want to be a part of this group. Yet, here she was…presenting herself for inspection.

Kodlak summoned Vilkas to his side. There it was; she was to spar with his own brother to test her mettle. When Vilkas reached Kodlak, the elder man spoke to him briefly. The expression on Vilkas' face spoke volumes. He was obviously not impressed by the small woman; didn't believe she'd make an impression upon him even if he gave her the opportunity to do so. Still, he humoured the man and headed for the training yard behind Jorrvaskr. She followed behind, staring straight ahead. She dared not make eye contact with any of the Companions within the hall.

The curiosity of Farkas got the better of him, and he too followed the pair out to the yard. In fact, he was not alone. Several of the others found that their footsteps let them outside as well. They observed from a distance, standing upon the covered terrace as Vilkas handed Marieka a sword and demanded she attack him. She appeared awkward and inexperienced; swinging wildly at the man and missing her mark completely. Vilkas goaded her, all but laughing at her attempt. A few more swings yielded similar results and the man chuckled heartily.

"Perhaps this isn't the life you're looking for, girl," Vilkas said. "We're looking for someone who can hold their own."

She handed the blade back to him. "I'm sorry I wasted your time," she said quietly, her voice carrying much further than she probably wished it to.

Farkas looked down at the ground as she spun around slowly and began to walk shamefully away from his brother. Vilkas was far crueler than he needed to be in some situations and he felt sorry that the man had put her through the public humiliation. As she followed the path that would lead her away from Jorrvaskr, Farkas felt compelled to speak to her. Perhaps she did deserve a chance. He pushed through the crowd of onlookers and hurried down the steps.

"Brother! Where are you off to? Certainly not to follow that whelp, I hope," Vilkas called out as he passed him.

He ignored the man, quickening his steps in an effort to catch up to the woman. It was not difficult to do so – she dragged her heels as she walked; her emotion showing in her gait. He rapidly caught up to her pace and he slowed when he walked beside her.

"Leaving awful quick, aren't you?" he asked.

She glanced sideways at him briefly, before her eyes stared straight ahead again. "I'm not wanted. I thought it was rather obvious."

"That's one man's opinion," he retorted.

She stopped, causing him to halt his steps as well. As she turned to face him, she crossed her arms in front of her. It was evident her guard was up immediately.

"I'm sorry…I don't recall your name," she said bluntly.

"Farkas," he replied. "And you are…Mar—…Marina?"

"Marieka."

"Right. Sorry about that."

"Yes…well, Farkas, apparently I'm not wanted by the man whose opinion counts in your…group," she said.

"Now wait a moment," he said. "It isn't just one man who makes the decisions for us all. You ran too quickly."

"That was…incredibly embarrassing for me," she admitted, letting her arms fall to her sides. "I'm no warrior. When your friend Aela invited me to speak to your…to Kodlak, she knew that. Why would she have asked me to come if the first and only requirement is to fight with a sword or bow?"

"She saw something in you, Breton," he replied. "The potential to add something to our group. I admit, it took me some time, but I saw it too. You're a strong fighter…in your own way."

"Tell that to Vilkas," she said.

"Ah yes…let me apologize to you for my brother. He doesn't always get along well with everyone," he replied.

"Your brother?" she said, slightly shocked at the revelation. "Though, I suppose now that you mention it, there is some resemblance there. Other than the fact that he's an ass, and you don't seem to be."

Farkas smiled at her. "That wouldn't be the first time I've heard that."

"Be that as it may, I don't understand why you've followed me out here," she said. "I obviously am not cut out for your line of work."

"At first I might have agreed with you. But the way you jumped in to help back at the farm…" he reminded her. "Though, I do want to know why you came back to us in the first place."

She shrugged. "I don't know. I thought I could be useful. Perhaps earn a little extra gold on the side. Does it even really matter?"

"It matters," he replied. "I'd like to speak to Kodlak for you. He may still be interested in having you around for certain things. There are plenty of jobs that you could handle. Magic can be really intimidating. Especially to me."

"You're not afraid of magic," she scoffed.

"Well, I sure don't understand it," he replied. "Actually, there're a lot of things I don't understand."

She sighed. "Do you really think it would be worthwhile?"

"Of course!" he exclaimed. "I know Ria wouldn't turn you away. Not after you basically saved her leg."

She bit her lip tentatively. "I don't know. I may need to think about it."

"Yeah," he replied, "take your time. We won't be going anywhere. And there will always be plenty of people who need a shakedown."

She laughed at his enthusiasm. "All right then," she said. "I'll give it some consideration. But only because you make it sound like so much fun."

"Oh trust me," he replied, his eyes twinkling with excitement. "It's the most fun you can have in Whiterun. And after a successful day of intimidation and beatings, we tend to throw back a bottle or two of mead."

"You don't say," she said. "Never took your lot for drinkers."

"Really?" he asked incredulously. "Most people say it's the only thing we know how to do right."

"I was joking, Farkas."

"Oh. Right."

"I, uh…I appreciate that you followed me out here," she admitted.

"Let's just say that you're not the first person that Vilkas has embarrassed in front of everyone," he replied.

"It's tough being the thoughtful, friendly brother of an ass, isn't it?" she asked.

He nodded with a smile. "See? I knew there was a reason I thought you should join us. You understand me already." He looked over his shoulder back towards Jorrvaskr. "I should probably get back to…"

"Oh, yes," she said. "Please…don't let me keep you. I'll think on your offer over the next few days. And I'll return to you regardless of my decision."

"That is fair," he replied.

"Thank you Farkas," she began. "You didn't have to do this. But I appreciate it."

"Anytime," he said. "Listen, Marieka…a few of us were planning to head down to the Bannered Mare tonight. Aela will be there. And Ria. I think they would be happy to see you…especially Ria."

"Will your brother be there?" she asked.

"I don't know really," he said, "but don't you worry about him. I'll keep him in line."

"I'll think about it, Farkas. Thanks for the invitation."

* * *

><p>Farkas and several of the Companions – including his brother – surrounded a large table covered with bottles of mead at the Bannered Mare. They had been celebrating nothing in particular for the better part of an hour, their level of rowdiness increasing so much so that Hulda had begun to shoot them disapproving looks.<p>

They continued their merrymaking and revelry, drinking and cheering throughout a lively conversation. Stories were told and the mead flowed easily. Patrons in the tavern came and went without the group paying anyone any mind. At least that was the case until the one time the door opened wide, bringing with it a gust of wind, a chill to the bone…and a familiar face.

"Well, well," Vilkas said smugly. "If it isn't the whelp…"

Farkas turned to face the doorway, discovering that his brother spoke the truth. "Oi! Breton!" he called out to her with a wave.

Her face lit up with a smile and she began to walk towards them. She hesitated momentarily when she spotted Vilkas among them, but pushed aside her reluctance in favour of the camaraderie the group ahead of her seemed to be offering.

With the Companions, if you put in your fair share, you were accepted. It was all rather black and white. Sometimes all a person needed was a chance. Farkas wasn't always the best judge of a person's character, but with Marieka, he felt certain. She would make a good addition to their group. Perhaps not in the traditional sense, but in her own way.

He reached behind to the table nearby, pulling up another chair so she could join them. She slid easily into it, acknowledging the group.

"Aela…Ria…I'm afraid I don't know you two…Farkas…" she nodded to each of the group in turn until she came to Vilkas. "Ass…"

Shock claimed the man's face at the woman's affront. He made to open his mouth in retort, but no words came out.

Farkas laughed loudly at his brother. "What's the matter, Vilkas? Have you nothing to say to that?"

Vilkas growled low in his throat. "Shut up, Farkas."

"Perhaps you should head back to Jorrvaskr," Farkas chortled. "After all…aren't we looking for people who can hold their own?"

He looked at Marieka who smiled slyly at him. The others joined in welcoming her to their table, passing her a bottle of mead as Vilkas stormed out of the tavern.

"I don't mean to push for an answer – especially since you asked for a few days to think things over – but you wouldn't happen to have made a decision yet, would you?" Farkas asked her.

"In fact, I have made a decision, Farkas," she replied. "I would be happy to join…should you wish to take me on for a time."

He chuckled enthusiastically. "Good!" he exclaimed. "And if you promise to continue to put my brother in his place, we'll take you on until the end of your days."

She raised her bottle into the air. "To the future. May it always be full of surprises," she toasted.

The others joined her in the toast.

_To the future, indeed…_


	14. Karliah

**So, I got a call earlier. It was Brynjolf. He said "I heard you were talking to Anders from Dragon Age the other day. Get back over here. And don't do that again…lass."**

**Ah, these muses and their jealousy. Bryn is becoming quite the attention whore.**

**Sorry Bryn…I'll behave…I promise.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Karliah<strong>_

The trek to Winterhold from Snow Veil Sanctum was proving to be a long one – made longer by the seemingly endless awkward silences that continued to manifest between the two women. Karliah certainly couldn't fault her for being suspicious. She had, after all, shot her with what amounted to a toxin-coated arrow. It wasn't exactly the most ideal way to begin any sort of relationship with someone. Admittedly, her motives had switched in an instant the second the woman had come through the heavy doors ahead of Mercer Frey. She had fully intended to plant the arrow in the central portion of his chest; to watch him collapse to the ground and finally to interrogate him. Make him confess to his crimes against the Guild…to his crimes against her…and Gallus. Poor, sweet Gallus.

But she knew…soon after they had entered the catacombs, she knew Mercer had arrived to seek her death. He had planned to bury the past completely, bringing along the woman Marieka to act as a shield. Had she been killed in the process, Karliah knew Frey would not have shed a tear or given her a second thought. He destroyed all hope of doing this cleanly…she had worried the woman would have perished because of her. It would seem though, that the gods clearly had a sense of humour – and one that Karliah would never understand. And now, this woman who merely hours earlier was on death's doorstep, was striding silently beside the Dunmer, ultimately trying to get back to Riften in as close to one piece as possible. But first…they needed to reach Winterhold.

"I don't blame you, you know," Karliah said suddenly.

"Blame me? What could you possibly have me to blame for?" Marieka shot back.

"For being wary of me," she replied. "What you've heard…it's not easy to stomach."

"No," she began, "and neither is a poison arrow to the chest."

"That is a misnomer. It was actually a toxin."

"Bah! Semantics," the Breton muttered. "The fact remains that you shot me."

"Need I remind you that by shooting you, I also saved your life?" Karliah calmly explained. "Without that toxin slowing the blood in your veins, the exsanguination would have been…fatal."

Marieka went silent for several moments. The reality of her near death experience had hit her several times already, causing her to request some time to rest. Karliah recognized that the woman's injuries would have required her to need a moment of respite; but the look upon her face suggested that her reasons ran deeper than the physical.

The distance between the Sanctum and Winterhold was great, but no more than a half day's walk. Or it would have been, had the weather been more hospitable to the two women. As it was, the winds howled into their faces, making it exceedingly difficult to maintain a brisk forward motion. Coupled with the blinding snow, the walk was one of the most challenging Karliah had remembered having in a very long time. And she had been walking the miles across Skyrim for an even longer time than that…

They persisted on through the day, arriving at Winterhold many hours after nightfall.

As they ascended the steps to the Frozen Hearth, Marieka was the first to speak.

"Karliah?"

She stopped at the top of the steps and looked at the woman. "Hmm?"

"I'm…sorry."

The Dunmer looked at her, puzzled by her apology.

"It is absurd that I maintain this disdain for you over the incident with the toxin. You in fact _did_ save my life, and for that I am forever in your debt," Marieka explained.

"Your debt shall be cleared once we understand what Gallus' journal says and I can return to Riften to warn the Guild. Until then, I will still hold nothing over your head for what I did to save you," Karliah advised. "Now let us enter the inn quickly, lest we finally catch our death of cold so close to our destination."

Marieka smiled weakly as the Mer held the door open for her. They entered the inn quietly – the lateness of the hour meant most, if not all, of the occupants were sleeping. Luckily, the proprietor of the inn, Dagur, had not quite settled in for the night.

"Welcome to the Frozen Hearth," he said kindly as they approached. "I'm about to turn in for the night, but if you weary travelers seek hot food or cold mead, I'm sure I can accommodate either request."

"That is appreciated," Marieka replied. "We, however, come seeking contact with a particular individual – Enthir of the College. Is he here?"

"Afraid not," Dagur replied. "He's been gone for a few days now. Don't know where he travelled to, but he did say he'd be back by now. You're both welcome to stay the night to wait for him. We could use the business."

Karliah nodded, tossing a number of septims on the counter to cover their accommodations for the night.

"I'll show you to your room," he said, emerging from behind the counter.

The two followed him and he brought them to a small room with two beds in it.

"Thank you," Marieka said.

He nodded to her and began to walk away, muttering to himself. "Sure hope that Enthir gets back soon. He always manages to bring me interesting trades. It'd be a shame if…"

As his voice trailed off, Karliah closed the door behind him. "We shall wait here until the mage returns. It will do you good to rest with that wound."

"I'll survive," she replied, sitting on the bed furthest from the door. "After all, with a good night's rest, I will be able to heal myself in a more proper manner. That being said, it pains me terribly. The next time I see that treacherous bastard, I plan to gut him."

"I'm afraid there is a long line of individuals who are ahead of you in that regard," Karliah said, for the first time allowing her face to display somewhat of a smile. She lowered herself gracefully on the other bed and began to remove her boots.

"What are your plans?" Marieka asked. "Once we figure out what information the journal holds, that is."

"We'll need to return to Riften, to inform the Guild," the Dunmer replied.

"We?"

"I don't expect they will be very welcoming of me," she advised. "I suspect that Mercer would not have brought you with him had some of the more senior members of the Guild not trusted you by now. I believe their trust in you will give them the pause that I need to stay their hand long enough to present what we have found. Will that be a problem?"

"No," she replied. "I don't think so. Though I hope you are right. I worry this may not work out as you anticipate."

"Have faith, Breton," she counseled. "Once they hear of Mercer's deceit, they will understand. Particularly once they hear that he attempted to murder you. Perhaps one or two of them may already call you friend?"

"Perhaps…"

Karliah eyed Marieka closely as her eyes became unfocused when she stared at nothing in particular. She was biting her lip as if in careful contemplation. The wistful sound of the woman's voice as she said that single word told her that she was right. She had taken a liking to someone in the Guild – though who, or whether the affection was reciprocal, was unknown. It mattered not – she suspected that would become clear to her soon enough.

"Sleep well, Marieka," she said, causing the other woman to start.

"Oh," she exclaimed. "Yes…you as well, Karliah."

The women made themselves comfortable in the hard beds of the inn as Karliah extinguished the candlelight in the room. Sleep did not elude them for long and soon, the quiet in the room was replaced by soft measured breaths and dreamless slumber.

* * *

><p>Nearly a full week had passed by the time Marieka and Karliah prepared themselves to enter the cistern beyond the Ragged Flagon. The meeting with Enthir proved somewhat fruitless. The mage was unable to translate the journal as they had hoped, but he provided them at least with someone who might be able to help. The journal had been written in the Falmer language, and he knew of an individual – a Court Wizard who fancied himself more of a scholar – who studied the language extensively.<p>

The required trip to Markarth was trying for Marieka. She spoke little of it upon her return to Winterhold. Regardless, she was successful in obtaining information that Enthir used to translate the text of the journal. With the translation in hand, Karliah became excited at the prospect of returning to the Guild…to the family she was exiled from for so many years. They left immediately, deciding to hire a carriage for the long journey to Riften.

It had all led to this moment. They stood a distance to the Flagon itself, some of the Guild's members noticing their presence, but remaining unalarmed.

"Who will know of you here?" Marieka asked.

"The most senior members," she replied. "Delvin is still here I suspect? And Brynjolf, of course."

The woman nodded. "Yes, Delvin…he's still here. And…"

Karliah noticed the Breton's breathing became increased. The vein in her neck even visibly pulsed more quickly. Her skin flushed; a bead of sweat upon her brow dripped down her face.

"Are you nervous, Marieka?" she asked.

"I…yes," she replied.

"You should not be so worried," she advised. "We will tell them of Mercer, and—"

"It's not that," Marieka interrupted. "It's just…never mind. We should hurry before everyone becomes more suspicious of our presence than they already are."

The Dunmer instantly understood that she was nervous about who they were about to see. There was no sense in attempting to decide who the object of her concern – and perhaps her affection – was; she would likely know in moments.

The two hurried through the tavern, ignoring the looks from those patrons at the tables throughout. When they arrived at the door to the cistern, Marieka's hand paused when it rested upon the handle. Her hesitation was brief, but measurable. Finally, she breathed deeply and opened the door.

She walked ahead; Karliah remaining slightly obscured from view behind her. Several figures nearest the reservoir itself turned around at the sound of their footsteps echoing through the cavernous expanse.

"Marieka!" It was Brynjolf. Karliah would have known his voice anywhere. "What are you—"

His pause suggested that he had spotted the figure behind her. The way he attempted to peer around her confirmed it. His eyes had widened; shock overtaking him. He and those he stood with drew their weapons, ready for a fight.

"No…no, Marieka. Why did you bring her here? Why did you bring that _traitor_ back to us?" he seethed, venom injected into every word. "How _dare_ you bring her here…"

Karliah's eyes moved between Brynjolf's face and that of Marieka. The expressions of betrayal and heartbreak that fell upon them respectively informed on only one thing: it was Brynjolf who held Marieka's heart.

She could encourage their pain no further and immediately stepped in front of the woman.

"Brynjolf," she cautioned. "You know not the whole story. Lower your weapons and I will show you proof that I did not murder the man I…that I did not murder Gallus. I will show you proof that you have been betrayed. We have _all_ been betrayed."

* * *

><p>Karliah sat at the edge of the cistern, reflecting upon how smoothly her plan had been carried out. Brynjolf, Delvin and the others quickly accepted her explanation - particularly with the evidence of Gallus' journal and the empty vault. The Guild was on edge. They would not settle until Mercer had been called to account for his actions.<p>

And so she sat quietly watching the reunion between Brynjolf and Marieka from afar. It may not have been clear to some of the others, but she knew of hidden love in the Guild. She experienced it. She and Gallus had spent many nights exchanging stolen glances and tender kisses under cover of darkness. And her trained eyes saw the subtle nuances of their actions. He stood a little too close to her; his eyes and fingertips lingering a little too long where they fell. If the emotion displayed at the beginning of their near confrontation hadn't been a dead giveaway to what was between them, then these moments would have pushed aside any doubt Karliah had.

She didn't want to stare, though couldn't help but do so. What she saw reminded her of happier times…times from so many years before. The tender caress of a cheek made her ache for her lost love. She closed her eyes for a moment, fighting back tears twenty five years in the making as she finally returned home. When she opened them, she glanced back once more to observe the stolen moments by the door. Brynjolf reached for Marieka's hand and squeezed it. She turned and began to walk away, but he refused to let go…not until she had turned back to him one final time. As the gap widened between their fingertips, she turned and headed through the door.

The Dunmer quickly turned her gaze away from his direction. In her periphery, she spied him approaching where she sat. They would finally have a few moments to themselves – after so many years. When he reached her, she stood to greet him. He immediately wrapped his arms around her petite frame, to which she returned the embrace. His head rested atop hers and he leaned towards her to speak.

"Karliah…I…words will not ever do justice to the amount of pain in my heart I have for what we've done to you," he murmured into her ear. "Sorry is far too weak of a word."

He loosened from the embrace and they pulled apart, yet he kept his hands upon her shoulders.

"Brynjolf, it wasn't what you did. How could you have ever known the betrayal that was carried out?" she asked rhetorically. "I will not hold you responsible for this."

"We should have investigated," he insisted, dropping his hands to his side. "There had to have been something we could have done to learn the truth."

"You had no reason to suspect Mercer," she said. "And it was a long time ago. I am working to put the past behind me. It has been the only thing that has allowed me to survive these long years alone. And I am almost there. I will soon make Mercer pay for his transgressions."

"I have every belief that you will," he advised. "I have sent Marieka to seek evidence of Mercer's whereabouts. With luck, we will know where he is headed by nightfall."

"You sent her off?" Karliah exclaimed. "The poor girl's been run ragged these past weeks! She should be resting."

"She insisted she be the one to go," he clarified. "I asked her if she was certain and she maintained that she was. I can only wonder what happened to steel her to do this."

"I'm sure she will tell you eventually," she replied, not wishing to overstep her bounds.

He nodded.

"Where _did_ you manage to find her, Brynjolf?" she wondered. "She is quite different from many of the others I recall being part of the Guild."

"That she is," he replied. "Would you believe I was about to attempt to rob her, and I caught her doing the same to the proprietors of the Bee and Barb?"

"Interesting," she said, an eyebrow raised. "Though she does give off the air of naïve wanderer, doesn't she? I'd have figured her for an easy target as well."

"Trust me, lass," he said. "She is _no_ easy target."

"Yes, but she is a terrible sneak. I'm quite confident she set off every trap in Snow Veil Sanctum. And does the woman own a dagger? For she seems to prefer blowing things up to silence. I am sure that not a Draugr remains there, for they have _all_ been awakened by her wanton destruction. I do not suggest sending her anywhere that requires any level of stealth."

Brynjolf chuckled.

Karliah smiled an easy smile at him. "You love her, don't you?"

"What?" He put on a good look of shock at least.

"Brynjolf, we've been apart for many years, but I'm not stupid. I saw you with her. You love her." She eyed him carefully, watching his face to search for betrayal of his emotions.

"No…we…sure, we have a…_thing_. But it's not love," he said flatly. "She doesn't want to bring feelings into it. I don't either. Besides…she is married to another. It's…complicated."

"It's _always_ complicated, Brynjolf. Look…you might be able to deny it to yourself, but I know what I saw," she persisted. "And you and I _both_ know that marriage doesn't mean a thing when it comes to love."

"That was a long time ago, Karliah," he replied. "I've put it behind me and would prefer not to be reminded of it."

"Of course," she said. "It doesn't change the fact that you need to admit to yourself what your true feelings are for the woman. Be fair to her. Be fair to _yourself_."

"I—," he began, but did not finish.

"Brynjolf, what Gallus and I had…it was life-changing. It was beautiful and pure. We fought for it. And still…so long after his death, I'll never love another," she said, her eyes glassy. "Do not pass on what you know is in your heart simply because you believe she does not wish it so."

"Are you saying I should ask her if she has changed her mind?" he questioned.

"I'm saying you should search your heart. And if you find what I am sure you will find, you should ask if she feels the same," she advised. "Though, asking her is a waste of time if you value my opinion. What I saw tells me she more than feels the same way you do."

"Just how long were you watching us?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Long enough."

"I'm not sure this is a good idea," he said.

"Brynjolf, you daft Nord! What would it do to you to lose her?" she demanded, clearly frustrated by his stubbornness on the subject.

"To lose her? What are you talking about, Karliah?"

She could no longer hold back the truth of what had happened at Snow Veil Sanctum. "Mercer tried to kill her. He stabbed her and left her to die. If it weren't for…" She cut herself off and sighed.

His entire demeanor changed in an instant. His eyes squeezed to thin slits and his hands balled into fists.

"What did you just say?" he growled. "That bastard…that fucking rat! When we find him, I'll cut his fucking heart out."

"Ah," she said. "That's the fire I expected to find within you, Brynjolf. _Now_ tell me that you don't love her."

"Why didn't she tell me?" he asked aloud, despite not truly requesting an answer.

"Perhaps she was afraid of your reaction," Karliah replied. "You need to keep a level head during this. You know how dangerous Mercer Frey can be. He's proven yet again that he has no regard for _any_ of us. Keep your temper in check, lest you end up like Gallus with poor, dear Marieka living with the regret of not telling you how she truly feels."

"I appreciate you telling me," he said coolly. "Mercer Frey has made his choice. And I intend to make him regret every bit of it until the moment I force the last breath from his body."

Karliah smiled. Mercer _would_ pay. She – among a growing list of others – would see to it.


	15. Onmund III

**This one was painful.**

**I guess I'll let it speak for itself…**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Onmund III<strong>_

"_Love is like a sin, my love…for the one that feels it the most  
>Look at her with her eyes like a flame<br>She will love you like a fly will never love you again"_

_ ~ "Paradise Circus", Massive Attack (Del Naja, Sandoval)_

* * *

><p><em>Onmund…we need to talk…<em>

Those words…those were the words that must have started every cataclysmic conversation that ever occurred in Skyrim. And being honest with himself, he had expected to have heard them much earlier.

But those words never came. Not at all. At least if they had, he wouldn't have been blindsided. He could have been led gently to where he was at that moment – uprooting his life once more. Mercifully he suspected this would be the last time. It was enough.

As he made preparations for his departure from Whiterun, he recalled the day those words should have been said to change his life. Marieka had finally come home from wherever she was. She said she had been on her way from Winterhold to Markarth, on some errand for one of the mages…Enthir, he thought. At the time, he hadn't known whether or not to believe her, but couldn't decide if she had a reason to lie.

When she arrived home, she was dirty and frail. She walked with a slight limp and when he confronted her about what could have happened, she snapped at him and immediately headed upstairs to their bedroom. To _his_ bedroom, for all the time _she_ had slept there.

Normally, he'd have let it go. He'd have ignored the outburst – pinning it down to the stress of travelling. But he'd had enough time alone to be driven insane by the 'what ifs' and the 'maybes'…he needed answers. He _deserved_ answers.

He followed her upstairs. Each step felt like eternity, his body heavy with the uncertainty of the confrontation to come. The creak of each stair ringing in his head like so many warning bells of impending trouble. The steps finally gave way to the landing and he passed Lydia's room, her door open. Thankfully, she had not been at home when Marieka had arrived. He turned towards the bedroom and through the partially opened door, he could see she had begun to change out of her heavily soiled clothes. The light armour she wore had been tossed on to the bed and she removed the leggings she wore under her dark trousers.

He pushed open the door wide with an anger she had never seen from him before. She was startled by the interruption and her eyes were wide.

"By the nine, Marieka! Where have you been? What have you been doing?" he demanded. "And for the love of all that is sacred, why do you _continue_ to travel alone?"

She looked at him through peculiar eyes. "I told you what I've been doing. I'm travelling to Markarth—"

"For Enthir…yes, yes," he replied snidely. "I heard you the first time. Now tell me what you're really doing."

She pulled a fresh pair of leggings from the dresser behind her and pulled them on quickly. "The mage needs the assistance of the Court Wizard. He's attempting to translate a document and I am going to help obtain what he needs to do so."

"So you're the errand girl of every mage you come across? Or Jarl? Or random person you cross paths with? You don't have to be everything to everyone. You don't have to do it all." His own words stung him, knowing that she was everything to everyone; except for the one person she had pledged her life to in order to do just that…_him_.

"You don't hear the stories, Onmund," she said, her eyes pleading with him to understand. "You don't see their _faces_. These people have no hope. The war is tearing this land apart and I'm trying to do what I can."

"You do too much for everyone but who you _should_ do for," he snapped.

She shook her head sadly and pulled her soiled undershirt up and over her head.

Onmund gasped loudly. "Marieka! What have you gotten yourself involved in now?" He ran over to her to examine the large fresh scar that ran roughly from her navel to her waistline. She cringed; as if she hadn't wanted him to see it at all. And she likely hadn't.

"It's…nothing, Onmund," she said, brushing him off.

"This is _not_ nothing! You can't keep doing this! You can't go off and risk your life for…_strangers_! This looks like it could have killed you," he said, collapsing on to the bed. He was defeated by her lack of self-concern.

"It nearly did," she replied quietly. "But…it didn't."

"So when will it? What will the injury be that finally sends you to your grave? An arrow to the back of the head? A knife to the throat? Perhaps a bolt of lightning will be your doom."

"Onmund! Stop it!" she cried out.

He was shaking. He'd never fought with her like this before. He'd barely fought with his family like this and they'd had more than their share of troubles. Why was he so angry?

He felt the bed lower next to him as she sat down slowly. She pulled a clean undershirt back over her head, hiding the scar once more. He looked over at her, reaching out to pull her chin towards him in order to look her in the eye.

"What's happening to us?" he asked. "What's going on?"

She turned away quickly. "Onmund, I…" She leaned forward, letting her forehead fall into her hands. "I know about you and Lydia."

His throat caught the breath that tried to escape. "I…had wondered…"

"I know you did," she replied.

He didn't know what to say. He had played this moment out in his head a thousand times before. He imagined that she'd have screamed at him. She probably would have slapped him across the face. Threatened to throw him out. He would have groveled and begged for her forgiveness. Pleaded with her. Told her how much he still loved her.

But it was never like this.

She was calm. She had accepted what she knew long ago. She lived with the secret for almost as long as he had.

"Marieka…I…I'm—"

"Stop," she said, shaking her head. "I…have not been true to you either."

He closed his eyes.

"You suspected…" she began.

He nodded.

"Please don't ask why," she begged.

"Don't you owe me that much?" he asked.

"Don't you?"

_Sigh._

"Do you love him?"

"I didn't," she said. The implications in those two words weighed heavily on him. Were they still involved? Did she love him now?

He looked at her, trying to see the honesty in her eyes. She was tired. Too tired to hide behind anything any longer.

"When I suspected…this…I told myself it wouldn't matter. As long as you loved me," he said, his voice wavering.

"Oh, Onmund," she said, biting her lip. "I do love you. But this…it isn't what it should be. I don't deserve what you're offering me. I've been taking advantage of you."

"No," he said. "You haven't. And that's the problem. You haven't _been_ here. Why did you stop bringing me with you?"

"I'm scared for you," she admitted weakly. "I injured you so severely the last time we travelled together. I'd not forgive myself for doing that again…or doing worse. It was too dangerous to bring you."

"Do you think I sit at home happy that you're off putting yourself into danger then?" he asked, a hint of sarcasm tingeing his words.

"Of course not," she said.

"Then why did you stop bringing Lydia? She's a warrior. Her life is to serve you…even to her death," he said.

"I…I thought that perhaps you'd be happier if she were home. That she would make you happier than I could."

"How dare you!" he growled. "How dare you not allow me to make my own decisions! I wanted you, _not_ her, Marieka. And you wouldn't even give me that opportunity."

She squeezed her eyes shut to fight back the tears that were finally threatening to spill.

"Tell me what to do," she cried out. "Tell me what you want!"

"I want you to tell me if you love him!"

"I don't know," she replied quietly. Her voice faltered.

"Tell me, Marieka! Do you fucking love him now?" he raged.

"Yes!" she finally exclaimed. "Yes…I love him…"

Silence.

"Fuck…" He stood up and walked out of the room…leaving her to her tears.

* * *

><p>In the hours that followed, Onmund paced the floor of the living area. He shook with anger and fought back tears of his own. He never wanted it to come to this. He never wanted this to end badly. It wasn't supposed to have ended in tears.<p>

But really, what other way was there for it to end? _Perhaps,_ he once hoped, _not at all…_

There was no thought of that now though. There would be no coming back from this ledge. They would both be forced to leap, for they'd passed any point of return.

_Who is it?_ He racked his brain trying desperately to think of who she had fallen in love with. He wanted to kill the man. As ridiculous as it sounded, he wanted the man to hurt as badly as he was now hurt. He also realized how futile it was to try to come up with a name. It was hopeless – she'd been off travelling so often that he'd likely never even met the man. Might _never_ meet him.

At one point, Lydia had returned home. She immediately knew something was wrong.

"Onmund," she whispered. "What's going on?"

"You'd best leave for the night, Lydia," he advised. "Stay at the inn. I shall send for you when you can return."

He handed her coin for the room and sent her off. Her face displayed obvious concern…worry. She feared it had everything to do with the nights the two had spent in each other's arms, and nothing to do with what it was actually about. She left silently, cursing herself for her part in this.

When he could no longer stand the silence that deafened his ears, he gathered his courage and returned to her.

She was sprawled across the bed on her stomach; passed out from exhaustion, he assumed. Her face was tear stained; her eyes puffy and red-rimmed. And for all that he wanted to hate her for what she had done, he could do nothing but think back to the day she broke in front of him.

_I don't __**want**__ this, Onmund! I can't…I can't do this!_

She was vulnerable and begging for his help and he loved every part of her for that. But she was no longer the same person she was that day. She changed. She _had_ to. She'd been tasked with something that overwhelmed her, and her primary reaction was to push away those who were closest. To _protect_ them.

Perhaps it was the only way she could get through the day. _Every_ day.

He sat down on the bed next to where she lay. He brushed her hair back off of her face and behind her ear. The simple action reminded him of happier times, when they lounged together exchanging tales from their youth…when the sparkle was still in her eyes. Yet, he felt cold as he stroked her hair gently…perfunctory. He wanted to feel something so badly.

But that feeling never came.

He leaned back against the head of the bed, pulling his hand back away from her hair. As he stretched his legs out in front of him, she stirred, looking around and finding him in front of her.

"Onmund…you're here."

If she was never going to use those words, he would. "Marieka…we need to talk. We need to resolve this."

She pushed herself up and wiped her face blindly. "I know. Did I hear Lydia earlier?"

He nodded. "I asked her to…not be here for the night. I thought it best."

"You're probably right," she said. She looked down at her hands, picking at her fingernails nervously. "I never meant for it to happen, Onmund. I wasn't supposed to love him."

"I know," he said. "I'm sorry for forcing you to decide."

"I didn't want to admit it to myself. It's my final betrayal. My final act of deception…and…I'm sorry for that. Because, for what it's worth, I still love you," she admitted.

"Your love has changed," he replied. "It's not the same as it was. _You're_ not the same. Neither of us is. We should never have rushed into this the way we did."

As they sat there, closer than they had been for months, they watched each other quietly as their relationship unraveled before them. It was akin to watching a star blink out of the sky. Or a fish flopping out of the water. It was painful and awkward…this death they were bearing witness to. Yet, oddly freeing.

He looked away from her for a moment, focusing for a moment on his fingertips. When his eyes returned to her, the pain of this loss had become apparent across her face. She furiously wiped away at her eyes, trying to hide that she had started to cry again.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I haven't had time to come to grips with this. I'm a bit more emotional than I expected."

"Don't be sorry," he replied. "It drives me to believe that you actually do still care."

"Of course I still care," she said, trying desperately not to betray the fact that his words continued to destroy her.

He ran a hand through his hair, summoning the courage to bring more pain to the surface. Nothing would be resolved for him without gathering an…understanding.

"So who is he?"

"Why do you want to know who he is? Will that change anything?" she asked, praying for him to change his mind.

"I need to understand why, Marieka."

"Please don't do this to yourself," she begged. She knew it would mean more harm than good.

"You know of my indiscretion. And you have the benefit of knowing who. I want that benefit. I want to understand," he said, a chill passing from his lips to her spine.

"Onmund, I…" She looked at him and sighed; resignation upon her face. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything. Where? Where is this man?" he asked.

"Riften."

At the name of the city, his eyes narrowed. "Does that mean this has been going on since…the incident at the College?"

She stared straight ahead, looking past him. "Yes."

He heaved a sigh. "What does he do?"

"What does that matter, Onmund?"

"You are still my wife, Marieka," he said. "I wish to know that he will take care of you."

"I don't need taking care of," she hissed.

"Humour me."

Her breath expelled sharply. "He is…an entrepreneur of sorts."

"Don't bullshit me, Marieka."

"He is a thief."

"Brilliant." Onmund was not impressed with this turn of events, though it was not as though he did not expect something similar. "And when you stay in Riften, I suppose you stay with him?"

She shook her head slowly. "I…own a house there."

"You own _another_ house?" he exclaimed. "Were you ever planning on telling me this?"

"No. I was never going to tell you."

"Shit, Marieka. Why not?" He wondered if continuing down this road was the wisest choice. The more she answered honestly, the less he knew her. The less he _liked_ her.

She gritted her teeth, steeling herself to prepare her words. This – above all – needed to be told to him. This was the most important thing.

"Everything about Riften was going to be for me. For me alone. When I first arrived, no one knew who I was. No one knew _what_ I was. You can't imagine how that feels, Onmund. To know that no one will look at me expecting something more than I can give them." She shifted uncomfortably under his cold gaze.

"You're right," he replied. "I don't understand. I don't understand why you couldn't tell your husband that you needed to have a place where you could go to escape things when you felt it necessary."

"I didn't go there expecting to find anything," she said. "I first travelled there with Lydia. I'd never have returned had I not been offered a job. It was one that didn't require me to slay dragons. And it was one that I was good at."

"You were 'good at' the College. You are 'good at' being the Thane. Why did you need something else? You're trying to fill a void that's not even there." He stared at her, yet she would not meet his eye.

"You really have no idea," she said, shaking her head – in the disbelief that he would profess to know what she needed; not that he wouldn't understand. "You can never understand what it will be like for me for the rest of my days. You will never witness like I have the way a person literally transforms before my eyes when they find out what I am. Even you, Onmund. It has even happened to you."

"What are you talking about?" he scoffed. "That's nonsense."

"It was in your eyes the moment we left High Hrothgar. When you discovered what I could do," she replied. "And every day since. I see it. I can't face you because of it. I can't look you in the eye for I am reminded of it every moment that I do."

"And this city…this…_thief_…they do not know what you are?"

Her lip quivered. "I was attacked by a dragon when I returned to the city one morning. It was too close to where the guards patrolled. They saw the skirmish. They saw what I did."

"Then what good is it for escape any longer?" he pointed out. "Does the thief not yet know?"

"He knows. But by the gods, Onmund…nothing has changed," she said, a wistful look upon her face. "The shock of what I am came and went without incident. He simply does not care." She contemplated her memories of that day…of what he had said to her. "It was then I knew I loved him. That is where the seeds were sown."

He put his head in his hand. "Does he know of your feelings? Does he reciprocate?"

"I…do not know," she replied. "But I know that I cannot continue to live the way I have been living. Not if I know I love him."

He looked up at the ceiling, pulling down at his jaw with his fingers. His mouth stayed open as he forced himself to think…to try to find a solution to this disaster.

"What are we to do, Marieka?" he asked. He looked back down to her. She finally met his gaze. "Where do we go from this point?"

"I would stay with you if you wished it, Onmund," she whispered, barely convincing the words to leave her mouth.

He immediately shook his head. "No. That is a ridiculous thought," he said, almost angrily. "You would be no happier than a child placed in the corner for punishment. For that is what it would amount to."

Her face was transformed by sadness. "Do not say that," she pleaded. "You were never punishment, Onmund."

"Regardless," he continued. "I'll not do that to either of us. If you have no suggestions on the matter, then let me be so bold as to explain one of my own. Before all of this, I made a decision that I would return to the College to continue my studies. To perhaps become a scholar. I had intended to carry on as your husband, but I no longer feel that is sensible. I will simply move back to the College. Permanently."

"I do not intend to kick you out of this home, Onmund," she replied. "This is more your home than it is mine."

"No. The memories are…fresh. Besides, I still have much to learn. Our travels together proved that." He looked at her, offering the tiniest of smiles.

"When will you leave?"

"Originally I considered within the month," he advised. "But now, I will not dally. I will leave by week's end."

"I see. Where would you wish me to be during that time?" she asked.

"Do not stay here," he said. "It will only complicate matters."

She cringed at his words, but knew he was right. The longer they were together during this volatile time, the worse it would be. Time apart would heal the wounds that were fresh.

"I suspect that we will see each other there at times…considering your station, Arch-Mage," he said. She thought his statement laced with sarcasm, but it was free and clear of all connotations.

"I have advised Tolfdir that I will only accept the title on an interim basis. He is set to seek out a permanent replacement for me within a few months. I'm beginning to tire of these titles," she said quietly.

"Then stop seeking them out. You need to slow down and take care of yourself, Marieka," he warned. "Your thief may provide you comfort now, but what happens when the next woman comes across his path? What then?"

"I will cross that bridge – _if_ and when I come to it," she replied.

"Confident in him then," he mused. "That's something, I suppose."

She had left not long after. He saw her off with a lingering embrace. When he attempted to give her the band of matrimony he wore on his finger, she advised him to keep it – purely for practical reasons, for it was enchanted with a spirit of life. He removed it from his finger and placed it on a chain to wear around his neck. He would never forget the love he once cherished with her. It was not his way to regret.

And days later, as he packed the last of his belongings up, his hand found its way to his chest where the ring lay. For some reason, it always remained warm to the touch. He assumed it was due to the enchantment – though, perhaps it was something else. After all, she said she would always love him…and he her. Problem was, it just wasn't the right kind of love to make them both stay.

Lydia assisted him with his belongings – helping him bring them to the stables. They loaded up the cart of the transport he had hired and he wished the housecarl good luck.

"I shall cherish those small moments we shared for all the days of my life," she whispered into his ear as he gave her a farewell embrace. She kissed him softly on the cheek and he stepped back from her.

"Farewell Lydia," he said. "Perhaps one day we will meet again."

She nodded and turned to leave before he ascended to the carriage.

As the cart began the long journey towards Winterhold, his eyes fell upon the city. Through the open gates he could see Breezehome. As the house passed from his view, so too did the bad memories from it. For when he packed his belongings, he had only made room for the good ones.


	16. Brynjolf VI

**I don't often chunk the lyrics of a full song at the beginning of a story, but this song feels like the soundtrack of what's to come. Like if I was one to write outlines for my stories, this would be it! If you have the opportunity to find this song, I recommend doing so. For those of us who aren't getting any younger, the wordplay of the lyrics suggest such beauty of the more mature relationship and the crescendo of the music itself is just spine tingling.**

**Hope this makes everyone feel better after the last installment.**

**Update: This was one just as hard to write as the previous chapter! Sheesh!**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Brynjolf VI<strong>_

_How dare the premier ignore my invitations…he'll have to go  
>So, to the bunch he luncheons with, it's second on my list of things to do<em>

_At the top I'm stopping by your place of work and acting like  
>I haven't dreamed of you and I and marriage in an orange grove<em>

_You are the only thing in any room you're ever in  
>I'm stubborn, selfish and too old<em>

_I sat you down and told you how the truest love that's ever found…is for oneself  
>You pulled apart my theory with a weary and disinterested sigh<em>

_So yes, I guess I'm asking you to back a horse that's good for glue…and nothing else  
>But find a man that's truer than…find a man that needs you more than I<em>

_Sit with me awhile and let me listen to you talk about  
>Your dreams and your obsessions, I'll be quiet and confessional<em>

_The violets explode inside me when I meet your eyes  
>Then I'm spinning and I'm diving like a cloud of starlings<em>

_Darling, is this love?_

_ ~ "Starlings", Elbow (Garvey, Potter, Potter, Turner, Jupp)_

* * *

><p>The dampness of the cistern was getting to Brynjolf. He had spent the hours since Marieka left for Riftweald Manor hunched over Mercer's desk, sifting through hundreds of old Guild documents looking for something…<em>any<em> kind of indictor that the Guildmaster had deceived them for so many years. When he finally gave up on the search, the stiffness in his back ached immediately as he stood up straight. So too did his knees; they betrayed his age as he walked towards where Delvin Mallory stood upon the bridge over the reservoir.

The Breton greeted him with a nod, folding his arms in front of him and tipping his head.

"I'm still having a hard time with this, Bryn," he said. "We're thieves. I understand I shouldn't be surprised to find that someone's conniving, but this…" He shook his head in disdain.

"I used to think there was honour among thieves," he replied. "It's difficult to hold on to that notion now."

"Ah, don't let one bad egg sully the rest of us, old man."

Brynjolf pointed his finger at the man's chest sharply. "Watch it, Mallory! Another comment about my age and I'll toss you in the drink."

Delvin chuckled. "I saw you hobbling over here. Face it, Bryn…you're not as young as you used to be."

"Stating the obvious has always been a strong point of yours, Del."

"So where's the wee spitfire gotten off to?" Delvin asked casually.

"I presume you refer to Marieka," he replied. "She volunteered to seek out information that might help us sort out where Mercer's planning to head next."

"She's gone to Riftweald then? I can't imagine that oaf Vald will just let her waltz in there," the Breton said. "Can you picture the two of them? Big hulking chunk of Nord facing down that tiny thing? Sure you should have sent her on her own?"

Brynjolf pursed his lips together. "You're starting to make me regret that decision now."

"Wouldn't worry 'bout it much, Bryn," Delvin advised. "You've told me enough times that she can handle herself. Managed to pull off that Goldenglow job, that one…don't forget it. She'll be back before you know it."

"Hope you're right, Del," he said solemnly. "I've sent her into harm's way enough as it is. If something happened to her…"

"Relax, mate," he said, placing a hand on the Nord's arm. "Don't get so worked up."

"Maybe I should go after her. Make sure that nothing's happened."

"Brynjolf. Settle down." Delvin eyed him suspiciously. "Somethin' goin' on between you and that one?"

He hesitated for a moment. "We…spent a couple of nights together. Nothing more than that."

"You sure?" he asked. "You're spending an awful lot of time down here pining away over her. And no one girl is _that_ good in bed."

Brynjolf put on an annoyed look and glared at the man. Delvin let a sly smile spread across his face.

"That look is all I needed to see, Bryn. You can't fool ol' Delvin," he chuckled. He looked beyond Brynjolf and nodded towards the door. "Don't look now, but your girl just showed up."

He closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank the gods. Now we can find out what that bastard Frey has been up to."

"Yes," Delvin replied under his breath as Brynjolf turned away from him and headed towards Marieka. "I'm sure that's exactly why you're relieved."

Brynjolf walked at an easy pace towards her, never wanting to appear too eager at her return. If Delvin had suspected something, then he wouldn't be the only one of the Guild's members to have done so. No need to put anything else suspicious out there for them all to grasp at.

"You, lass, are a sight for sore eyes," he said.

She smiled widely back at him, looking rather proud at her return. "Did you doubt for a second that I'd return successfully?"

"Hmm…cocky," he replied. "Might be an interesting quality to add to your arsenal."

He smiled at her until he noticed the large mark that showed up as the dim light in the cistern hit the side of her face. It was part scrape, part bruise.

"Marieka, what happened here?" he asked, obvious concern in his voice. He carefully turned her face so he could examine the injury closer.

Delvin appeared beside the two and eyed the mark on her face. "Ouch. Kissed by a giant, by the looks of it."

"Nothing so exotic, I fear. Frey hired mercenaries to guard the levels inside. One of them caught me with the broad side of his blade," she explained. "Better than the sharp side, I say."

"Much better," Brynjolf replied. "Although it looks like the sharp side did do some damage." He lightly patted the scrape that had quickly covered over with the initial stages of scabbing.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "More good news! I discovered that the poison resistance draughts I brewed the other day work like a charm. Managed to trip a trap that I completely missed and was hit by several poison darts. Good times, that Riftweald Manor. I'd go back there again in a heartbeat." She rolled her eyes excessively.

"You happen to take some other magical potion there girl?" Delvin asked. "You're in too good of a mood."

She pulled her pack from her shoulder and dug into it. From it, she pulled a large map. When she unrolled it, she pointed her finger at it.

"_This_ is where we'll find Mercer Frey!" she exclaimed triumphantly.

The two men leaned in towards the map.

"Irkngthand?" Delvin said. "Why do I know that name?"

"I know the place," Brynjolf said dismally. "It's a dwemer ruin…said to hold the Eyes of the Falmer."

"What are they?" she asked.

"Not sure exactly, but they'd be worth a lot to someone. And if Mercer finds them, he'll make enough coin to disappear forever. That son of a bitch. We can't let him get them."

"If it makes you feel any better, we need not hurry," Marieka pointed out. "There are notes…names of settlements and…well, I'm not sure…a list of ingredients for _some_thing. But it would appear that Mercer is not heading directly to Irkngthand. We have time. We'll rest until tomorrow. And that reminds me. I ran into Karliah. She wishes to meet us tomorrow at dusk, Brynjolf. She's given me directions for where we'll be headed."

"Right, well you two enjoy _that_ journey. I'll just be right here keeping my usual seat in the Flagon warm for when you return," Delvin said. "Speaking of which, I'm off for a drink. Evenin'."

He left them standing together as he headed off to the tavern.

"You did well, lass," Brynjolf said with a smile. "You had my nerves up when you started to make us wait longer than we suspected though."

She sighed. "Maven. That woman…she had me…you know what? It doesn't matter. I'm just happy that the task is complete and we have something to go on."

"As am I," he replied.

He took the map from her and brought it to the large desk that once belonged to Mercer. He supposed it was time to start thinking of the man in the past. After all, he vowed to destroy him. For what he did to the Guild. For Karliah and Gallus. For Marieka.

When he turned around to head back to where she was standing, he nearly jumped when he realized she had followed him and was standing right there. There was something different about her. She seemed lighter and unburdened. The smile on her face spoke of peace.

She looked around quickly, checking over her shoulder before stepping towards him and grabbing one of his hands.

"We have much to talk about," she said excitedly.

"Oh, we do? Just what did you have in mind, lass?" _Because I have so much to tell you…_

"Not here," she replied. "Come by Honeyside…but no sooner than an hour from now."

She let go of his hand and readjusted the pack on her shoulder.

"I'll see you then, Brynjolf," she said, turning to leave. A few steps later she spun around quickly and called out to him. "And bring some mead! Otherwise, I can't promise you there will be any."

As she disappeared around the corner, he took a deep breath. Tonight could very well provide him the opportunity for a moment of truth. He would have to decide once and for all what his feelings for her meant. The strange tingle in his stomach startled him. Were these nerves? He didn't want to risk changing things if it meant ruin for their…well…this thing of theirs. He was venturing into unknown territory. It was a place that he'd not been for decades. Gods, he hoped that whatever came of that night, she would understand.

* * *

><p>The anticipation of the night was all but killing him. The seconds ticked by as an eternity, but it still was not enough time to reconcile his thoughts. If the other members of the Guild noticed Brynjolf was on edge, they never let on. Or passed it off as the stress of the circumstances they were involved in.<p>

Karliah returned to the cistern that evening, shortly after Marieka headed back home. She smiled at Brynjolf from the distance – a smile that was too knowing. He wanted to talk to someone…she would have been perfect had it not been for the fact that Delvin continued to harass her to join him for drinks. She eventually obliged, heading off with him to the Flagon. Yet before she left, she caught Brynjolf's attention and give him a look of confidence, faith and compassion all at once. Her words from earlier that day would have to suffice for what he needed.

He had significantly allowed his anger over Mercer's treason dissipate in the hours since he spoke to the Dunmer woman. But her words haunted him. He couldn't help but think about the way she looked when she admitted Frey had attempted to kill Marieka. Her face…it was almost as though she thought herself the responsible party.

_What would it do to you to lose her?_

The more he thought of those words, the greater the feeling of hollow emptiness grew within his stomach. He found his thoughts turning towards the Breton more often than he wanted to admit to himself. The days when she was in Riften, he wanted to be by her side. And when she was not around, he _missed_ her. It was slowly becoming harder for him to deny that anything was happening between them – especially to himself.

Before he even realized it was happening, his feet set him on the path towards her home. He was thankful for it, for he wasn't certain it would have happened otherwise. And it confirmed one thing – he knew at least that his feet were in love with the girl.

A strange inner monologue played out as he walked. Random thoughts were discussed within him, as he practiced various things he could say to her. _She's the best thing that has happened to me in too long. But I'm too old to be pining over the young lass. What could she possibly see in me anyway? I'm just an old washed up thief. She was just looking for something physical. It's probably best that we just have a quick discussion about what she wants to tell me, and then…I'll just go. I'll tell her that we should probably put an end to what's happened between us. Although, if you're still interested, lass…I'd be happy to take part in your sexual misadventures. Of course, I'll leave that up to you. Don't give me that look Marieka. If you want to end it, just tell me. I know you still love Onmund. And by now, you're probably feeling guilty about what we've done without his knowledge. Yes, that's fine. I'll just head back to the Flagon for a few drinks. No need to worry about me._

It was settled then. He had gone insane.

He stopped in the street to settle his rambling thoughts. Leaning on the rail, he looked down towards the canal. The water was calm…like glass. The reflection in it drew his attention up to the skies above, where the auroras danced. They stretched across the expanse of the sky, streaking the quickly darkening canvas with a brilliant red fire. The shock of so much sudden beauty caused him to inhale sharply and hold his breath. When he released the breath, his eyes returned earthward and he forced himself to continue on.

He arrived at Honeyside…ready to once again debate about knocking. Though his chance passed quickly, as the door opened to reveal a very unassuming – and excited – Marieka.

"I'm so glad you're here, Brynjolf!" she exclaimed. "I had started to worry that perhaps you might have changed your mind about coming."

"Sorry lass," he said. "Got caught up looking at the skies."

She peeked her head out of the door and looked up. Her eyes widened and she threw open the door wide, quickly stepping through it. She stared up at the sky in wonder.

"They really are beautiful tonight, aren't they?"

He nodded in agreement, but hadn't taken his eyes off of her since she opened the door. Her face had transformed into a façade of childlike innocence as she marveled at the sight. He noticed that she had never painted her face up like some of the whores that he had encountered over the span of his life as a career criminal. She was pretty enough that most men would at least give her a second glance. But her beauty was quiet and reserved. It did not overwhelm him – thankfully, lest he be driven to his knees in a pile of messy words and attempts to impress. The strange markings she carried on her face had always intrigued him as well, though he had not yet had the courage to confront her about them.

"Brynjolf, you're not even looking at them," she said.

"They aren't the only lovely thing that has my attention this night," he replied.

She looked every bit the part of Thane that night. Instead of her usual armour or mages' robes, she had opted for soft dark trousers and a belted tunic. No hood covered her head for once, and her often tangled hair had been combed through, looking soft to the touch.

She looked at him, flush creeping up her neck and on to her face quickly. "Well…I…come in, at least," she stuttered.

He smiled at her as he walked by into her home. It was warm and inviting, candlelight punctuating the room with a large fire in the hearth.

"Where's your housecarl?" he asked, attempting to be nonchalant. He ran his fingertips along the back of a chair as he passed it, turning to face her slowly as she closed the door behind her.

"I've given her some time off. Did I tell you she is betrothed? Her husband to be owns a farm just outside of Shor's Stone. I plan to do something about her schedule. After all, I'm not exactly someone who needs a housecarl. Being a part of the Guild makes me less nervous that someone will try to steal from my home. I often think she sits around here quite _bored_ most of the time," she admitted.

"It's useful for her to be here when you're away though, is it not?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yes…when I'm away," she replied. "But…I plan on spending a bit more time here." His heart sped up momentarily. "You know, to ensure that the Guild is stronger," she added quickly.

"That is appreciated," he said. "As is good cold mead." He reached into the pack he carried, pulling out several bottles as she had requested earlier.

"Oh, perfect!" she said. "I had almost forgotten that I'd asked you to bring them. I also had Iona pick up a selection of cheeses and smoked meats from the market. I think it's a rather respectable offering, don't you?"

"More than respectable," he replied. "But then, I'm not here for the food."

"Oh goodness, you cut right to the chase, don't you?" she laughed.

"We're not going to live forever, lass," he replied, cursing himself for putting forth yet another reminder of just how much older he was.

"Ah, and who wants to?" she quipped, apparently not quite as worried about age and death as he was.

He approached her, bringing his hand up to the side of her face. "How is that bruise?" he asked, having a good look at it.

"It doesn't hurt so much," she replied. "I haven't bothered to heal it. It adds character."

He chuckled. "Then I must be full of character, for all the scars and bruises I've attained over the years."

She moved dangerously close to him and looked into his eyes. "You are full of character, Brynjolf," she murmured. "It's why I like you."

He didn't move – barely breathing until she stepped back again. She motioned for him to follow her towards the hearth. She had spread out a blanket and several furs on the floor. Picking up the platter of food Iona had prepared, she kneeled on the ground and placed the food in front of them. He lowered himself to the ground as she made herself comfortable.

"I should really invest in some more comfortable seating options," she said, flashing a smile. "Hope you don't mind the floor, but I'm liable to pass right out if I sit on the bed."

_Or be ravaged. Among other things…_

He shook his head. "This is fine. Reminds me of when I was a young lad…back when my mother was still alive. She used to…we sometimes had lunches like this. I never did figure out why she enjoyed it so much."

"There's something slightly romantic about curling up on the ground in front of a roaring fire with a packed lunch," she said. "The air of being on the road without the danger."

"That could be it right there," he agreed. "So lass…I can see it in your eyes. You are _dying_ to tell me about something."

She smiled widely at him. Every time he saw that smile, a warmth spread throughout him. Her happiness – though it came in spurts – was infectious.

"I did it, Bryn," she said. "I confronted him. I confronted Onmund."

"Wait…when?" he asked. "When did you even see him?"

"On the way to Markarth. I needed to stop to rest for the night anyhow. So I detoured through Whiterun," she explained. "And I told him I knew about him and Lydia."

"Wow. When you told me you had something to tell me, this was _certainly_ not what I expected," he replied. "It went well then?"

She shook her head and looked down, the smile quickly replaced by something darker.

"Not at all," she replied. "It was…horrible. We'd never fought like that before." She reached for a nearby fur and wrapped it around her. "He said hurtful things. We both did, I think. But…everything came out. I told him about us…about what's happened between us. I told him that I didn't know if I should be with him after what I had done. But that…"

"What, lass?"

"That if he wanted me to stay, I would."

"Oh. What…what did he say?" He was nervous…uncertain if he wished to know. Ignorance, after all, was bliss.

She looked straight ahead, her shoulders relaxing. "He said that he couldn't do that. That it wasn't fair to either of us. He…he almost sounded relieved, Brynjolf. As if it was a release he was seeking as well. Given the worry he professed that he carried with him whenever I'm travelling, I think I understand why."

"So, what does this all mean?" he asked.

"You…you don't understand?"

"I just want to hear you say the words…"

"It's over, Brynjolf. Onmund and I are ending our marriage." She looked wistful, but more at peace with the way of things than he'd ever seen her.

Still…the question needed to be asked.

"Are you okay, Marieka?"

She pondered the question for a moment, then slowly nodded.

"Yes," she began, "I believe I _am_ okay. I didn't think it was what I wanted…but…we weren't meant to share our lives in that way. I don't think we were meant for being more than anything but very good friends. I'd truly hope to return to that one day. But…I'm not sure if that could ever be possible." She pulled at her hair, strands of it falling into her face. "He's returning to the College for study. I'm…happy for him for making that decision. Though I admit it makes me nervous. I will likely see him more often than might be a good idea."

He reached for her hand and held it in his. "You've always described him as a reasonable man. It would seem to me that you will both be able to find a way to coincide peacefully."

She nodded. "I think you're right."

"What will you do now?" he asked, looking into her eyes.

"Well, we'll go with Karliah to—"

"No," he interrupted, pulling her hand closer to him. "What will _you_ do?"

"I don't usually think too far ahead, Brynjolf," she replied.

"Gods, that's an understatement," he exclaimed. "But seriously, Marieka. You must have some thought of what you want to do now. Will you stay in Whiterun?"

She shook her head. "I can't seem to stay in one place for too long," she replied. "I'll keep the house, of course. It's good to have a comfortable place to rest your head after a long journey. But, I can't stay there very often. Not with…she's still going to be there. And just because I accepted Onmund's choice doesn't mean I want to be reminded of it." She took a large mouthful of mead, swallowing hard.

He eyed her carefully. The corner of her mouth twitched when she was nervous – he'd seen her that way enough to know. And her hair was not nearly long enough to hide behind, try as she might. There were still things that she hid from him.

When he didn't say anything, she attempted to continue. "With my nervousness of bringing Karliah back to the Guild…and everything that today brought, I…I haven't really had a chance to think about what this all means…for…for us."

He continued to look at her, reveling in her anxiety – ordinarily that should have sounded cruel, but his reasons were not of malice. She was nervous about something…and her reluctance to admit it to him was endearing.

"I've got all night to discuss this, lass," he said quietly, putting a hand on her knee. He smiled warmly at her and she reciprocated.

"Thank you, Brynjolf," she replied. "I have been more than on edge about this conversation for some time."

"Don't be," he said. "It's just me."

She shifted nervously, closing the gap between them a little more.

"Considering the short tenure of our time together," she began, "we've been through quite a lot. Wouldn't you say?"

He nodded. "The Guild can do that to people."

"Though, despite successfully facing so many trials thus far, I remain disappointed."

"Disappointed? Why are you disappointed?" Worry flashed on to his face briefly.

"I feel as though I don't know anything about you," she replied. "It's troubling."

"How so?" he asked.

"I shouldn't feel the way I…it just seems I should know more than I do. If we're going to…continue on, I mean," she said.

What was she about to admit to him? What did she really feel?

"Well, we can rectify that. I'm willing to submit to full interrogation," he replied.

A wicked smile crept on to her face. "Don't tempt me, Nord."

"Though it's hardly fair if you do not agree to provide me the same courtesy," he suggested.

"I wouldn't dream of not doing so," she replied.

The two sat together on the floor, wrapped in fur and the warmth of the fire, and talked for hours. The exchanged stories of the bits of childhood they could remember. Happy memories and sad alike. They spoke of the dreams they held on to as children – and what caused them to be brought down to reality. They talked about family and friends they had over the years of their lives.

They spoke on poverty and strife and war and death. And on hope.

Eventually she noticed the platter was empty, and cleared it and some empty bottles of mead away. When she returned to his side, he held his arm out toward her, inviting her closer. She curled up next to him as he stretched his legs out in front of him. They settled into a comfortable position where she lay on her back with her head on his lap as she looked up at him. He gently placed his hand on her stomach, brushing his fingers across it softly.

She sighed contentedly.

"We should have done that long ago," she said.

"Nonsense, lass," he replied. "We're not a conventional pair. We seem to be doing everything backwards."

"Are we a pair?" she asked.

"Something like that."

"What is it that we have, Brynjolf?" she asked. "I can't pin it down to definition."

"I'm not sure," he replied honestly. "Are you happy with it?"

She bit her lip. "I…I don't know."

"What would it take for you to be sure?" He looked down upon her, lacing his fingers through hers.

She didn't respond. She didn't know how.

"You told me you didn't need love from me," he said. "Are you reconsidering that declaration?"

She avoided his eyes as she searched for an answer.

"Brynjolf, I don't mean to be…indecisive. But…things change. _People_ change," she said.

"What do you want me to be?" he asked. "Say it. Say the word and I will be it."

He felt her rate of breathing increase. But she didn't speak.

"Marieka…where did he hurt you?"

"Who?" she asked, her brow furrowing.

"Mercer. Karliah told me he tried to kill you. Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

She sighed, silently cursing the Dunmer. Reluctantly, she removed the belt from around her tunic and slid the hemline of it up, exposing her stomach to him. In the flickering light of the fire, he could see the raised bumps of a scar that stretched from her navel to her waist. His audible gasp was accompanied by him leaning forward to see more closely. His fingertips gently ran along the length of the scar, and she winced slightly.

"Does it hurt?"

"No," she replied. "Not anymore."

"By the gods, Marieka," he began. "How did you survive this?"

"Karliah…she had planned to use an arrow on Mercer the second he entered the cavern she waited for him in. It was tipped with a toxin she had developed…some sort of paralysis agent. When I came through the door first, she…used the arrow on me instead." She looked away from Brynjolf as she reflected on the memories. "She later explained to me that she couldn't risk fighting us both, which is what would have happened if she stayed. And she also believed that he brought me there to die anyway. To use as fodder and more proof of Karliah's so-called evil – he'd have blamed my death on her. So she chose to use the toxin on me, knowing that Mercer would attempt to kill me regardless. It slowed down the bleeding enough for her to pull me out of the Sanctum and save my life."

"Remind me to thank her for that when we next see her," he said. He continued to softly run his calloused fingers across the scar, subconsciously trying to tell her that it was okay. That he would be there to protect her. To _heal_ her.

"When she disappeared into the blackness of the cavern, he…I saw him approaching me. But, there was nothing I could do. The arrow had completely numbed me and my body didn't respond. I was _commanding_ it to get up. Demanding that I send some sort of magic at him to slow his approach. But nothing came."

He brought his free hand up to stroke her hair as she continued the story.

"I was aware of everything. I could see the look on his face. He…wanted blood. It was when he crouched in front of me, pulling out his blade…it was then that I…I thought of nothing but you. I've never been more terrified in my life, Brynjolf. I didn't think that I would ever see your face again," she fought to explain. "I…I realized that I'd made a mistake with you in that instant."

"You…made a mistake?" he repeated slowly, hurt spreading across his face.

"I told you I didn't want to bring feelings into this. That I couldn't give you love if that's what you wanted. But I was wrong, Brynjolf. There's nothing I want more in this world than to take what I said back."

Desperation flooded her expression. She breathed out heavily, as if relieved that she did not falter in her admission. It had taken everything in her to tell him how she felt. She sat up, pulling herself dreadfully close to him and gripped at his coat.

"I know you must think me naïve…immature as well. Perhaps that I am not as experienced at life as others you may have bedded. I don't know what someone like you would even want with someone like me. But I beg you…let me give myself to you…let me love you completely. I don't even care if you can't love me back. But please don't turn me away."

Her eyes were wild as Brynjolf looked into them. She had laid her soul bare before him and his only reaction was to laugh…to laugh deeper and louder than he ever had before. For she had no idea how his confession to her would be so extraordinarily similar. She pulled back from him, looking mortified at his reaction.

"Why…why do you laugh at me, Brynjolf?"

He calmed his boisterous mirth and shook his head with a smile. He pulled her back to him, forcing her head into the crook of his neck. His arms snaked behind her back and he kissed the top of her head.

"Marieka…you…you have no idea. You have absolutely no idea," he exclaimed.

"I don't understand," she protested.

"What could a beautiful young lass like you want with a washed up old thief like me?" he mused. "Everything you've said…all of your fears…your feelings…I've had them all. Every one of them. I've needed you for longer than even I knew. I didn't know how much I wanted to love you until Karliah told me of what Mercer did. And I refuse to let another opportunity pass…to risk not being able to tell you yet again."

He pulled back from her, placing his hands on her cheeks and looking her directly in the eye.

"I want to be at your side. I want to protect you. I'll never let anyone hurt you. I love you, Marieka."

He breathed deeply as he waited for her bewildered expression to change into something else. Her face finally softened.

"Say it again…"

His hand wandered up her face, running his fingers into her hair. He brought his lips to where they were barely touching hers – "I love you, Marieka..." – and then closed the gap.

They had kissed before. She had felt his lips all over her body. He made her feel like a goddess more than once. But this…this was different. This was real. There were no longer things to inhibit the full strength of a kiss fueled by love.

As their lips pressed together, she felt herself release – an explosion of infinite tingling as gooseflesh covered her body. He felt her yield to his touch and pulled her closer, allowing her to settle on to his lap, her legs finding their way around him. They pulled back to breathe and she brought her mouth to his ear.

"And I love you, Brynjolf. I intend not to ever stop."

He smiled and squeezed her tight. As he breathed in her scent, he felt comfort wash over him. She smelled like everything sweet in the world and now he knew she was his. Just as he was hers.

"You must have cast some sort of spell upon me, mage," he whispered, "for I intend the same."

"Oh Bryn." She pulled back and looked at him. "How could you ever think I wouldn't want you?"

"I could ask you the same, lass," he said. "I fought hard against these feelings, you know. I didn't think you wanted me to have them. I tried to push them aside, but I failed."

"Thank the gods persistence isn't one of your strengths!"

"Hey," he said, feigning hurt. "If I wasn't persistent, you'd never have come to the Guild in the first place."

"I'll give you that," she said with a smile. "So what happens now?"

"Now?" he repeated. "Now, I bring you into your bedchambers and love you properly. You probably have no idea just how much I missed you while you were away again."

"Oh, I might have some idea," she replied, but planned to allow him to show her anyway.

Tomorrow they would leave to hunt down the man that betrayed them. They would once again place themselves into harm's way for the greater good of the Guild. They would stand together.

But tonight…tonight they would let the world around them melt into the background as they loved each other more fully and completely than either had ever loved another. One night together was all they wanted…all they needed. He was happy. Truly happy. Not even the treachery of Mercer Frey could change that.

He couldn't wait for Mercer to discover that Marieka had survived his attempt on her life. He would take pleasure in seeing the man's face at that moment.

And she would help destroy him.

She would be his angel of vengeance.

_His beautiful love_.


	17. Mercer Frey

**Phew! Writing this chapter has left me breathless. I don't often write action for this very reason – especially not as detailed as this seemed to get. I hope it all works out well for you all. This was definitely one of my favourite parts of the game so far. Revenge is so very sweet, n'est ce pas? Oh, and about that...creative liberties, my friends. It made me feel so much better taking the man down this way. I'm not really an evil person...I promise you...**

**Also, to the two folks who left me reviews to which I cannot reply:**

**Curtisimo...thank you very much for the suggestions! While I have not yet done the Sanguine quest (though I know of it), I DO have the Wabbajack! I adored 'The Mind of Madness'. I am intending to incorporate the Daedric princes into this story in some way...I just haven't quite figured it out yet. ;)**

**LM...your comments humble me. ****They suggest that you have been truly drawn into the story, and for that I am grateful. I never intended Brynjolf's part of the story to take off the way it has, but it feels like a natural progression for it, and I hope that you (and everyone else) will appreciate what's coming. As for your hopes for the future, I have little doubt that many of them will be realized. Thank you again for your kind words. I'm so glad you've decided to keep following along…**

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><p><em><strong>Mercer Frey<strong>_

_You're just a chronic little liar  
>A sentinel of farce<br>Integrity's a fairytale  
>It makes me wonder who you are<br>Just another creed  
>Shame is gone to seed<br>Another slight attack  
>Could be the thing you need<em>

"_A Slight Attack", The Tea Party (Martin, Chatwood, Burrows)_

* * *

><p>He <em>knew<em> they would follow.

Brynjolf was predictable, if nothing else. Once he discovered his precious new recruit had been killed, Mercer knew he would follow. And even if Karliah didn't succeed in pleading her case to the Guild, at the very least, Brynjolf would have become curious enough to snoop around in Riftweald Manor – or to send someone to do it.

Though, Karliah was a tricky one. She'd put on an innocent act, trying to convince them that she really didn't kill Gallus…the love of her life. _Poor, poor Gallus. He never knew what hit him._ No matter – having them follow him to Irkngthand would work out even better. There were so many traps and chances for death in there, they'd perish for certain. After all, they hadn't had the opportunity to pore over Gallus' research like he had been doing for _years_.

Mercer chuckled to himself, pleased at just how long he'd gotten away with murder, in the most literal sense. He'd robbed the Guild blind and there was nothing they could do about it. Or at least, that seemed to be the way of things – until Brynjolf brought that little _bitch_ in under his wing. She'd started to nose around a little too much, that Marieka. Started to get too interested in who was trying to bring down the Guild. He knew it was Karliah as soon as he saw the symbol stamped on the deed to Goldenglow. But he needed further proof – and when he sent the girl to trail that damned Argonian, he knew one of two things could happen: she could be killed, or she would return with information. If she was killed, the blood wasn't on his hands and he could continue with his plans without interruption. If she managed to actually complete the mission, he'd let her in on the so-called secret identity of the Guild's 'enemy', and he knew she'd eat right out of his hands. She was so eager to serve the Guild; to please her mentor, Brynjolf. He could ask her to kill a man in broad daylight with ten guards as her witness if it meant satisfying that man, and she'd have done it in a heartbeat.

When she returned from her task, she announced she had successfully trailed the Argonian. Her interrogation yielded impressive results. A name, and a location of where their target was headed. She was actually quite good at this sort of thing…shame it wouldn't last…

Asking her to come with him to Snow Veil Sanctum – to _save_ the Guild – was the simplest task he'd ever undertaken. Eager was an understatement. She jumped at the opportunity to impress everyone in the Guild…to impress Brynjolf. And Mercer wasn't stupid. If there wasn't something going on between the two, there soon would be.

Too bad he was about to put a stop to that.

The cavern at Snow Veil was a surprise to him – he'd had no idea that Karliah was going to make his life so much easier by shooting the girl with an arrow, causing her to be paralyzed behind him. He suspected that it had been meant for him. But no matter – Karliah's plans were disrupted sufficiently and she ran off, likely to go into hiding again until she could face the Guild. _Coward…_

When he turned around, he saw Marieka lying on the ground, unable to move. Oh the things he could have done to the girl – if he were that kind of man. And he _would_ have been that kind of man had he known exactly how long she'd have been paralyzed like that. She'd have begged and pleaded for him to stop…for him to give her death – or at least, she would have thought that in her head, for the paralysis would have prevented her screams. He'd have made her regret ever setting foot in the cistern. He'd have taken his time with her. He would have reminded her repeatedly that he was _not_ Brynjolf and that she would _not_ enjoy this.

But because he didn't want to take any chances, he decided to skip to the end – to just kill her outright. He slowly unsheathed his blade, wanting her to see exactly what he was going to do to her. While she couldn't move, her eyes still betrayed her emotions. She was frightened when she saw the dagger in his hand. She knew her end was coming. He crouched down low, dragging the dagger's tip across her stomach – he wondered if she could feel it; if she knew just how close it was to slicing into her. When he plunged the blade into her skin, he thought he heard her gasp, but her mouth did not move. He stared into her eyes.

_I'll give your regards to Brynjolf…_

It must be a difficult thing…to not be able to squeeze one's own eyes shut during a moment of such peril. At the moment you realize your whole world is crashing in around you, and the only thing you want to do before you take your last breath is to close your eyes and see the face of the one you care most about. But Mercer Frey was a thief at heart, and he would steal everything – _especially_ that moment.

He stood over her, watching as the blood seeped from the wound. She would not survive this.

* * *

><p>As he stood at the entrance to the Irkngthand Arcanux, he looked back down upon the precarious and random pathways of stairs and ramps that he'd just traversed. He'd been able to successfully navigate the way up, leaving his hired bandits behind to camp at the base of the ruin. He suspected that those who followed would merely sneak by them – or kill them if necessary. Either way, a worthwhile investment to wear his foes down. He <em>needed<em> them to enter the ruin..._wanted_ them to survive...to _know_ that their failure would mean his escape.

And if their life was to be ended at his blade, then all the better.

The thieves and bandits who had inhabited the sunken hall though, had surprised him. Still, he dispatched them with ease, continuing to make his way through the labyrinthine ruins towards his ultimate destination. The Dwemer traps and blinded Falmer were simple enough to sneak by. Mercer padded through the convoluted remnants of the once proud settlement with authority, leaving additional traps behind for his guests where he saw fit.

In one particularly cavernous expanse, he decided to suspend his journey through the ruins temporarily. He needed to be sure that they followed. Considering he had nothing but time now, for no one else had ever made it to the Eyes of the Falmer, he would wait until they appeared. He had rigged enough traps that not even Karliah would escape them all, and the sound would warn of their impending approach. From his viewpoint, he could see the large enclosure where they would pass through perfectly. All he had to do was wait...

And wait he did. Hours passed with no sound...no sign of either Karliah or Brynjolf. In the dim light of the cavern, he had no concept of the time that had passed. He could have been there for hours...or days. He watched the Falmer that treaded nearby, not sensing his presence, as they went about their business. Though what business that was, he was uncertain. But watching them passed the time...somewhat. The creatures moved oddly, lumbering and hunched over. Their grotesque forms made his stomach retch – in particular, their sightless lidded eyes. Yet somehow they managed to acquire and wear impressively disturbing armour...they carried weapons. Some used spells. He was thankful for his ability to remain so silent, considering their sensitivity to sound.

He was also thankful for his own seemingly limitless ability to hear at great distance, for finally, a trap was triggered in the upper levels. He paid close attention to the enclosure at the entrance to the cavern. There was movement...one figure...then a second. It had to be them...even at that distance, the armour was unmistakable. _Nightingales!_ Ah, so Karliah had finally replaced him...it _had_ to be Brynjolf. They approached the fenced wall of the enclosure, peering down towards the cavern below. He could almost feel Karliah's piercing gaze upon him and made to move. But then a third figure came into view. Who could it be? Who could the third Nightingale be?

With one last look, he turned and continued up the stairs, deftly avoiding all of the Falmer as he went. He was so many steps ahead of those who chased him that he continued to take his time. Would such arrogance be his downfall? He doubted it – it wasn't so much arrogance as the confidence he had due to his own abilities as a Nightingale, the ownership of Nocturnal's Skeleton Key and his knowledge of this place due to Gallus' research. No, it wasn't arrogance at all. He'd _earned_ the right to be confident at this point.

Finally..._finally_ the complex system of caves ended and Mercer opened a large wooden door to a massive opening in the ruins. His eyes fell upon the colossal statue, immediately spying the two tremendous jewels that fit into the sockets of its eyes. He felt his stomach flip. For the first time since setting foot into these ruins, he felt overwhelmed..._nervous_... The eyes stared back at him – taunting him...daring him to approach them and remove them from this place...

He examined the statue, plotting his path to its head. He ascended the stairwell that wrapped its way around the statue, dispatching a Falmer that had remained hidden behind it with ease. Jumping across to the great figure's shoulder, he was momentarily distracted again when his eyes fell upon the jewels at such close range. The pale tinge of rose and lilac sparkled as he looked at them. They were incredible. The rumours of the jewels being as big as one's head were false – they were bigger! With these in his possession, he would never need to carry out another job again. But he would, for he was a thief in every sense of the word, and he couldn't imagine himself giving up the life he loved.

Carefully, he climbed up the face of the statue, jamming a dagger into the solid rock and using the carved lips of the Falmer to provide leverage. The jewel did not come away easily. He wrestled with the piece, digging behind it with a meagre effort as he struggled to hold on to his dagger. It slipped a little from the nearly full weight of his body bearing down upon it. Just as he felt his footing become uncertain, the jewel released itself and he fell backwards on to the great collar of the statue; the dagger freeing itself from the stone and clattering to the surface beside him.

The second jewel was less of an effort. When he had ascended to where it sat in the socket, he noticed the statue had begun to crumble around the eye and he was able to quickly reach in to pull the jewel out. As he grabbed for the dagger he had once again used to climb the face, he heard a clatter behind him.

"Mercer Frey!"

_Karliah!_

He jumped down from the face and on to the collar.

"Impressive," he called out. "I truly never expected all of you to make it through these ruins. Especially you, Brynjolf." He jumped from the shoulder of the statue back to the stairs and descended them slowly. "And Karliah, you I figured I'd face in the end. Though I'm afraid I'm at a disadvantage regarding the third member of your party. Just who is it under that hood?"

His words dripped with malice. He salivated at the thought of driving his blade into the heart of all of them. He watched as the third figure appeared to contemplate a route down to where he stood. The small figure _seemed_ female, but he was uncertain. It could have actually been Delvin for all he knew, though doubtful considering the man never left his post at the Ragged Flagon. Or was it Vex?

As the individual across the pooled water from where he stood stared at him, they reached up and began to strip away the mask from their face. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

"Back from the dead, eh Marieka?" he said. "Well, it'll be a pleasure killing you twice."

"You'll not touch her," Brynjolf growled.

Mercer eyed him carefully. Even at this distance, the emotion in his voice and his posture betrayed him.

"Oh, Brynjolf," he spat. "You fool. You utter fool. You saw what falling in love did for dear, sweet Karliah and her precious Gallus. And yet here you are, allowing yourself to fall into the same trap. You never were good at recognizing traps."

"Fuck you, Mercer," he shouted angrily at his former Guildmaster. "We came here for you. Stop fucking around and let's end this."

"Yes," Mercer replied. "Let's..."

With the Skeleton Key and all its associated luck in his possession, he dispatched a burst of energy towards the ledge where the three stood, partially collapsing it and sending Marieka to the ground below. Brynjolf tried to reach for her, but the shaking of the ground caused both he and Karliah to stumble into a heap. The Breton lay in the crumbled debris as he began to approach her slowly, stopping just short of the water that pooled in the bottom of the cavern.

"I'll admit," he began, "I never thought you to be the catalyst for all of this, girl. When Brynjolf first brought you before me, I didn't think you'd amount to anything more than a momentary distraction for him. He's weaker than I thought. And you're far luckier than you should be. But your luck is ended."

She pushed herself up off the ground, getting to her feet. Drawing her weapon – which Mercer recognized as the blade of the Nightingales – she spit out the blood that had pooled in her mouth. She was unsteady on her feet for the moment – something Mercer would have used to his advantage if he were closer.

"Luck has nothing to do with this, Mercer," she shouted. "This is vengeance. You crossed the Guild. And you crossed me."

He raised an eyebrow. "I crossed the Guild?" he repeated. "You think that none of those other thugs would have done this if only they'd thought of it before I did? You have a lot to learn, young blood."

"No one in the Guild is as callous as you," she retorted. "They have honour."

"Honour?" he spat. "None of them know the first thing of honour. Least of all, Karliah. The man you love sat rotting away in the darkness and you did _nothing_. What honour is there in cowardice?"

He saw her wince at his words, thrilling him to his core.

"Mercer, you bastard," the Dunmer cried out, still heartbroken over her own lack of action for so many years.

"Karliah's honour is not in question here, Frey," Marieka barked. "Yours is."

"Do you not even listen to yourself?" he taunted. "I have no honour. I'm a thief. There is _no_ honour among us. You'd best learn it. Especially if you're fucking that one."

As he motioned to Brynjolf, he saw her grip tighten on the blade in her hand and she charged at him with fury.

"Marieka! No!" Brynjolf cried out, knowing that Mercer would be a formidable foe for her to take on alone. He frantically searched for a way down to fight at her side, having nothing at his disposal to engage him from a distance. Karliah saw his torment and drew her bow from her back, training an arrow on Mercer.

Seeing the weapon in her hand, Mercer immediately summoned the power he was granted so many years before by Nocturnal. His abilities in subterfuge were powerful – it was as if he forced those around him to bend to his will at times. And just as Karliah was about to launch her attack, he reached into the mind of man next to her, causing Brynjolf to falter and assault his companion. The bow clattered to the ground as he vaulted into her, tackling her to the ground. He drew his daggers from his belt and continued to fight with the woman before she escaped his grip and rushed away from him.

With the two distracted on the ledge above, Mercer turned his focus to the woman rushing directly for him. His innate magical abilities allowed him to vanish from sight and he quickly slipped to the side as she ran through the spot where he had stood not a moment earlier. He backed away from her calmly while she frenetically spun around; searching for clues of where he'd disappeared. She seemed to realize quickly how futile expending so much energy was and ceased spinning uselessly. He watched her eyes darting around, looking for something to give away where he stood. He could see her lips begin to move as she mumbled something to herself.

Moments later, her eyes trained directly upon him, as though she saw him again. He deduced she knew more magic than she had ever let on, able to distinguish even the unseen before her. She darted after him once more and he dashed to the side, throwing a dagger directly at her. It grazed her thigh – perhaps deeper than he suspected – and she stumbled to the ground. Before she got back to her feet, she directed several bursts of energy his way, burning his lower body with unearthly flames. She reached for the blade that had escaped her grip and jumped up, favouring the uninjured leg as she resumed the chase. Mercer had again disappeared from her sight and she ran past several huge chunks of rubble that stood at the foot of the statue. As she passed them, he appeared behind her, slicing at her wildly. He missed for the most part, but it caused her to become distracted, and she tripped over the debris on the ground. When she landed, he pounced at her, bringing his blade down from high above his head towards her.

"Marieka! Behind you!"

Brynjolf, despite being forced to battle Karliah with his physical form, was still of sound mind. His warning prompted her to spin round and immediately draw her sword in front of her, blocking his strike at the last possible moment. The edge of his blade was dangerously close to the side of her face, and she expended a significant amount of effort to push it away, sending him staggering backwards. She sent a bolt of lightning from her fingertips to his body, causing him to fall on to the ground. His head brushed against a boulder on the way down and his vision blurred. When it cleared, he stood up and was face to face with the girl. She limped towards him; sword drawn and hand up summoning energy into its palm. She blasted him with yet another burst of electrical energy.

"This is over, Mercer," she said, narrowing her eyes.

His hand meandered to the back of his belt and on to the hilt of one of many hidden daggers. In a fluid motion, he whipped the dagger at her. It caught her in the shoulder of her sword arm, causing her to lose the blade. She fell to her knees in pain, grasping at the shoulder; her concentration broken.

As he reached for another of his blades, he began to walk towards her slowly. A sickening smile spread across his face as he heard an anguished cry from Brynjolf who could do nothing but watch.

"I'm going to stick this blade directly into your heart," he snarled at her. "I'm going to kill you in front of Brynjolf. And I'm going to enjoy every single second of it." He cackled wildly as he advanced upon her.

She looked up at him, a tear running down the side of her face from the agony. He saw her breathe deeply before slowly opening her mouth and expelling a single word...

"Krii..."

He stopped suddenly. A feeling of weakness overwhelmed him from his very core to his extremities. As he doubled over, he grasped at his chest and realized the buckles on his armour had come unfastened. The gauntlet on his left arm had cracked and his boots felt slack. He forced himself to stand upright and looked up at her in time to see her pull the dagger from her shoulder, cringing excessively. Her eyes met his and she quickly threw the dagger in his direction. It lodged itself into his abdomen and he collapsed to the ground, forced to lie on his back.

For what felt like an eternity, he stayed there, watching the girl as she slowly pulled a vial of liquid from her belt, ingesting the blue fluid. She shook as she crawled over to where her blade lay on the ground. Her eyes did not move from his crumpled form on the ground. He broke away from watching her and could see that Brynjolf and Karliah had ceased fighting. He was now scaling down the side of the ledge. When he hit the ground, he darted towards Marieka and helped her to her feet. He embraced the girl; but his eyes went straight for Mercer. He glared angrily at the man who awaited death on the ground. Karliah had also reached where he lie, pulling out two daggers of her own. She crouched down behind him, taking one of his hands in hers and stretching his arm above his head.

"Relax, Mercer," she whispered to him in her soothing voice. "It'll all be over soon."

She drove the dagger down hard into his hand, pinning it to the ground beneath him. He cried out loudly, evidence of the excessive misery he was experiencing. She repeated the procedure on his other hand, and his head lolled back and forth, as he threatened to pass out.

Brynjolf, still with his arm around Marieka, approached the man on the ground.

"You always warned others not to cross the Guild," he said coldly. "You should have taken your own advice."

He let go of her and crouched down to the ground, hovering over the man. He reached back, pulling a knife from his belt. He tossed it back and forth a few times, watching as it moved from one hand to the other. His eyes returned to stare into those of his former ally.

"I've just one more theft I'd like you to be a part of, Mercer...before the end," Brynjolf sneered.

And proceeded to cut out his heart.


	18. Brynjolf VII

**The song referenced here is an Icelandic lullaby that has been roughly translated using a combination of Google Translate and the interpretation of others. The original lullaby will appear at the completion of the story. It is quite beautiful, and I'm sure the interpretation doesn't do it justice. If anyone is familiar with the language and can offer me a better translation, or something doesn't make sense with the way I've used certain words, please offer me suggestions! I in no way wish for this to come off as hokey, as the song itself is quite pretty. There is a gorgeous rendition of this by Sigur Rós on YouTube. Check it out… **youtu. be** / NraiK0vCXNE**

**Ironically, the song I chose to open this story up with is performed by an Icelandic singer. It is also quite lovely. **youtu. be** / oB3WrodLKCg**

**Update/Edits: Unfortunately I wrote this chapter prior to actually finding the location they head to. I have now actually gone there in game and have rewritten portions of the chapter related to their journey. These rewrites have no effect on the outcome of the chapter and you don't have to read them...they just make more sense to me now.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Brynjolf VII<strong>_

_It might have been awhile since you've been loved  
>By one who really loves you<em>

_It might have been awhile since you could trust  
>That someone really cares<em>

_When people like us  
>Meant to go round in pairs<em>

_Summerbreeze is blowing through your window  
>Summerbreeze is blowing through your hair<br>Something in your eyes that took me by surprise  
>Don't tell me that it ain't there<em>

_~ "Summerbreeze", Emiliana Torrini_

* * *

><p>It was done.<p>

Mercer was dead. The Eyes of the Falmer were in their possession. More importantly, the Skeleton Key was in their possession.

And they _survived_.

They stood just outside of Bronze Water Cave, under the pale light of a veiled moon. The breeze blew cool across the water, causing the three to shiver. Marieka had collapsed to the ground when she exited the cavern and remained there. Her injuries were significant enough to influence their decision to pause at the cove until they could determine just what exactly should come next.

Karliah explained that the Skeleton Key had to be returned to the Twilight Sepulcher – Lady Nocturnal would not be satisfied until that happened. She would never hold their bargain fulfilled until that time. Yet, while the urgency of the matter was undisputable, it had been twenty five years. One or two more days while they allowed Marieka to recover a bit from her injuries wouldn't make that much of a difference.

"If we travel to Falkreath, there is a small inn. I am familiar with the merchant who owns it, Valga. We can rest there for a night or two…however long you need to recover, Marieka," Karliah suggested.

She nodded. "I am too weak to heal myself of these wounds. I'm afraid I will be difficult to travel with for a time."

Brynjolf knelt down by her side, taking her hand. "We will worry about that, lass. Just rest right now."

"I will travel to Windhelm to obtain a better method of transportation for us. How are you on a horse?" the Dunmer asked.

"Me?" Marieka exclaimed. "I…I've never been on a horse. I haven't the slightest idea how I'd fare."

"You'll be fine," he reassured her. "We'll take it slow."

"In the meantime, you two should stay out of sight. We certainly do not need bandits being attracted here. Not with the items we now carry," Karliah warned.

"I'll take care of things, Karliah," Brynjolf said, standing up to face her. "Will you make it?"

"Of course," she replied. "I've been doing this for a long time, old friend."

He nodded with a smile, clasping her forearm. She pulled her cape around her and headed off, disappearing into the night. And then they were alone.

Marieka looked to be on the verge of passing out, but managed to keep her eyes open as he approached her once more, sitting on the ground beside her.

"You're shivering," he said. "Let me help you back in the cavern."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "It smells of death in there. I don't want to go back in there yet. Not until we absolutely have to."

"You won't last long out here," he advised. "We're both soaked to the bone and with your injuries—." He sighed. "I don't want to tell you want to do, Marieka, but if you pass out, I'm carrying you in there."

She smiled faintly at him. "You don't suppose we could make a small fire, do you?"

"It might attract some attention. But this area is sheltered enough," he said. "We'll just be careful."

He got to his feet and looked around for wood for a fire. When he had collected a sufficient amount, he piled them together and looked over his shoulder towards her.

"Are you strong enough to set this ablaze?"

"I don't know," she replied. "I'll try."

He helped her up and brought her near the pile of wood. She reached her hand out towards it, summoning all her strength to cause flames to dance upon her fingers and fall towards the wood. She was thankful that the first attempt caught, causing the logs to burn slowly. She settled down on to a small patch of vegetation that abutted a large rock face. Brynjolf crouched low beside her.

"Are you okay now? Can I do anything? Get you anything?" he asked.

"Yes. You can relax and sit down," she said with a chuckle that led to a fit of coughing.

When the coughing calmed, he sat next to her, placing a hand upon her cheek. "Are you warm enough?"

"Brynjolf! Stop fussing over me. I'll be fine. It _is_ a little chilly, but as soon as my clothes dry out, it'll warm up. And sitting by this fire is helping already."

They had already attempted to dress her wounds – the deepest of which was the gash in her shoulder. Karliah had managed to stop the bleeding…or at least slowed it enough to clean it the best they could and wrap it tightly. The laceration on her thigh wasn't as bad and was wrapped up quickly. Several scrapes and cuts were found on the rest of her body – her arms, face and back. She was in rough shape, but she would recover provided she didn't catch an illness that her body would not be able to fight in this weakened state.

Careful not to aggravate her injuries with contact, he slipped his arm around her, adding some body heat to help keep her warm.

"See," she began, "now that's the way I like to warm up."

He smiled. "Do you want to talk about what happened in there?"

"Do you?"

"I worry that you might think me…well, to be honest, I'm not certain," he replied. "That was a particularly brutal way for a man to die. I'd not wish you to think less of me for what I did."

"Brynjolf, do you truly think I'd let you sit so close to me with your arm around me like this if I had a problem with what you did?" she asked. "Frankly, I'm surprised things weren't even more…" Her voice trailed off. She didn't have to explain.

"I'm glad, lass. What he did to me…influencing me to fight with Karliah. Gods, that was horrible. It was bad enough that I was fighting a dear old friend like her – but to not be able to fight at your side. When I swore to you that I'd never let anyone hurt you. That I'd protect you…" His voice wavered at the end. She turned to him with concern upon her face.

"Don't," she said. "Don't do that. It could have just as easily been you or Karliah who fell…with any of us being influenced to attack one another. Mercer was beyond willing to do whatever it took to get those jewels and get out."

He sighed. "I suppose. It doesn't make it any easier to accept."

"You don't need to accept anything. We made it out alive and that's all that matters."

"You're sure then?" he checked. "You don't think me evil?"

"I don't think you evil," she replied. "He _killed_ Gallus. Framed Karliah for the murder. Stole _everything_ from the Guild. Not to mention the horrible way he treated every one of you. That bastard got what was coming. Just remind me not to get on your bad side."

He chuckled then. "You neglected to mention that he tried to kill you. Twice."

"Even ignoring that, Brynjolf, the man deserved what he got," she replied. "Even if I wasn't in the picture..."

He looked at her for a moment.

"What? Why do you look at me so?"

"This...vengeful streak in you," he said. "It's...different."

"I suppose it makes me a dreadful person," she replied unapologetically.

"On the contrary," he said. "It's just another layer that I hadn't discovered yet. I'm enjoying peeling each one back to see what I can find. Though, perhaps that makes _me_ a dreadful person."

"Then we shall be dreadful together...freezing our arses off in the middle of nowhere," she replied. "I do hope Karliah returns sooner rather than later. Not that I mind that the time will be spent with you."

"Oh yes," he teased, "it'll be a terrible time that we're about to have. So many hours alone with you. How will I ever be able to stand it?"

Wolves howled in the distance, causing her to shiver and scoot closer to him – if that were possible. He squeezed her tight, careful not to touch her shoulder.

"You fought very well in there," he said. "My heart sank when I saw you charge at him, but you surprised me. I've never seen you fight before."

"Evidently, you haven't travelled with me enough," she joked.

"No, I haven't," he said. "I'd like to change that, if you'd let me."

"I…but the Guild," she protested. Her thoughts returned to all those fears of Onmund at her side again. Travelling with her was dangerous – she'd learned to take care of herself, but always feared for her companions. Trouble seemed to go out of its way to find her.

"The Guild will settle back into its familiar patterns soon enough. And once the Skeleton Key is returned to Nocturnal, perhaps we shall see her favour again."

"Do you truly wish to leave the comfort of Riften?" she asked.

"The comfort of Riften? Gods, woman! I live in a sewer!" he exclaimed.

They both laughed, thinking of the dank cistern that the Guild called home.

"That could…change, you know," she said quietly.

"It could?"

"I _do_ have a house in the city," she replied.

"You would ask me to live with you?" he asked.

"How else are you going to protect me?" she said with a cheeky tone.

_By the nine, Marieka! Don't do that to me!_

"You are wounded, lass. Don't tease me, lest you wish to have your bandages ripped off furiously in my efforts to defile you in this cold," he warned.

"Gods, Bryn," she replied. "You have no idea how much I'd like that right now. It would more than take my mind off of this pain."

He leaned towards her, kissing her on the top of her head. There would be time enough for their fun when she had recovered. They sat, staring at the flames licking around the wood in the fire. Her eyes began to glaze over as they unfocused, gazing at the hypnotic blaze.

A few moments later, he interrupted her thoughts.

"Marieka," he began. "I…need to ask you something."

"Oh?"

"When Mercer was advancing upon you…when he was about to kill you. What…what was it that you did? Was that it? Was that the shout? The one that they say killed the High King?"

She took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut. There was no fighting this any longer for her. She decided she couldn't keep running from fate, for fate had a way of always managing to keep up with her. And Brynjolf's question was not out of fear – but curiosity.

She nodded slowly. "Yes, and no. Or perhaps maybe. What you heard was a shout, yes. But I don't know if it's the one that killed the High King. Or even if he truly was killed by a shout. The one I used wasn't a particularly fatal shout…but I knew it would weaken him…weaken his armour. I have always been quite nervous about using them."

"You shouldn't be," he replied. "It was incredible. That is a gift you have."

"More like a curse," she muttered.

"No, Marieka. It is no curse. You have been blessed by the gods with something entirely too special to be considered a curse. You've said many times that people are afraid of what you can do. But do you remember those guards we encountered in Riften that day?"

She groaned. "How could I forget?"

"They were in _awe_ of you. There was no fear. They were reverent to the point of worship," he reminded her.

"But I don't want people to grovel at me either," she replied.

"People will do what they will," he said. "You need to ignore them and start to be aware of yourself. To understand that _you_ are doing what you feel is right. And if you feel like you're about to falter, Marieka, I want you to remember who will be at your side. I will be there for you. I want you to lean on me."

She didn't take her eyes off of him as he spoke. His sincerity was more than evident. And it was something she could appreciate readily.

"Brynjolf, I…I'm not sure what to say," she stuttered.

"Why do you feel as though you need to say anything?" he asked.

"I don't know…I…"

"Stop talking, lass."

He took her chin in his hand and lifted her face up, moving in to kiss her lips. She brought her hands up to cup his face as she returned it. Her fingers brushed across the rough stubble along his jaw line and chin. They pulled apart slightly and he rested his forehead upon hers.

"Thank you, Brynjolf," she said. "Sometimes I wish you were with me at the beginning. Perhaps I'd be a stronger person."

He pulled away and looked at her. "No. This is the way things were meant to happen. Otherwise, we'd not be here right now."

"You don't subscribe to that whole fate and destiny thing, do you?"

"Lass, with the way things have gone these past few months, I'm starting to," he said, smiling at her. "And I'm _thankful_ for it. Do you really believe I'd have met you otherwise?"

She shrugged. "Perhaps I am a bit of a subscriber to those concepts myself," she admitted. "Hmm...what about the idea of there being one person out there for everyone? Do you believe in that nonsense?"

He laughed. "And if I admit that I do, you'll think me ridiculous," he said, "because clearly you don't view it as reasonable."

"So...yes then?"

He smirked at her, ignoring her question. He could see that the conversation was taking her mind off of her physical condition – at least for a short time.

"I can't believe you're not going to answer the question," she snorted.

"I wouldn't want you to think me a hopeless romantic, lass," he said.

She laughed loudly then. The sound was beautiful and genuine. He wanted to close his eyes and imagine hearing that sound forever.

"You _do_ believe in it then!" she exclaimed. "It just seems so...implausible. Tamriel is a big place. What happens when you live in...I don't know...Morrowind for example...and the one person that you're supposed to be with lives all the way in Hammerfell? That hardly seems fair."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that really," he replied. "You were the one who came all the way to Skyrim from High Rock."

She was about to respond, but was taken aback by his words. "So, what are you implying, my lovely Nord thief? Are you trying to tell me that I was meant to be with you?"

"Of course not," he replied. "You don't believe in that nonsense."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "_You_ are being purposefully difficult, Brynjolf." She reached up, fingering a piece of his hair. She wrapped it around her finger, holding it there. The action was not lost on him – he was most certainly wrapped around her finger.

"I am, in fact, _not_ being difficult," he replied. "You're simply not happy that I've managed to catch you in a bit of a lie."

"A lie?" she scoffed. "What sort of a lie?"

He took her hand as she released the strands of hair from her finger. "You _claim_ that the idea of two people being meant to be together is nonsense. When in fact, you are using your annoyance with the idea to mask what you really feel. That you _want_ it to be true. You want it to be true so badly, that you try to trick me into admitting what I believe. But I will not fall for your wiles, Breton. You cannot fool me."

She looked back towards the fire then...pouting. For a few moments she sat in silence, and Brynjolf smiled to himself. If there's anything he'd learned about the girl, it was that she was stubborn when it came to love. She would never admit that he was right...that she really did want to believe in one person for everyone. In the concept of soul mates. Intriguing, especially when one had the soul of a dragon.

Until she admitted it, he wouldn't let her know that he fully believed in the idea of a soul mate. He had seen it in Gallus and Karliah. If any two people were meant for each other, it would have been them. Their love might even transcend the plane between this mortal realm and the worlds that existed beyond death.

Brynjolf wasn't sure if Marieka was the woman he was meant to spend his life with. He didn't know. And he didn't care. All he was certain of was that he knew he loved her and he wanted to spend _that moment_ with her. And the next moment. And the one after that.

He got up from her side and motioned for her to move away from the rock. He slid in behind her, sitting with each of his legs on either side of her. She leaned back into him and he wrapped his arms around her waist. Their clothes had dried out finally, and they were much warmer because of it. Her head rested gently upon his shoulder. He could _feel_ the smile that had spread across her face. If he could have stayed with her that way forever, he'd have asked the gods to make it so.

He heard her yawn as she snuggled into him. Lightly rubbing her arms, he pulled her closer, not wanting to let her go.

"Brynjolf?"

"Yes, Marieka?"

"What if I did want it to be true?" she asked. "Would you tell me if you thought I was meant to be with you?"

"If I knew the answer to that myself, I would tell you," he replied.

"Oh." She sounded disappointed.

"Though, it doesn't matter," he said. "What matters is that I _want_ to be with you. I think that counts for more than destiny."

He knew she was satisfied with the answer when she took one of his hands up to her mouth, her feather soft lips pressing upon the back of it. She sighed, fidgeting in front of him until she was in a more comfortable position.

"Tell me again of your parents," she requested.

"Didn't I tell you of them the other day?"

"Yes," she replied. "Pretend I've forgotten."

He laughed quietly. "Yes, of course." He smiled as he looked into the fire. The time he spent growing up generally consisted of happier times. He never minded reminiscing. "Well, perhaps a different story then. My parents owned a farm in the southern lands of Skyrim. It was south of Ivarstead at the foot of the mountain slopes. They grew all manner of vegetable...potatoes, cabbage, carrots...hearty Nord vegetables. And they raised chickens. I used to chase them around the yard. My mother would scold me endlessly...saying that I was disrupting their ability to produce eggs when I had them running all the time."

"I have a difficult time picturing you running after chickens," she admitted.

"Well, I did," he insisted. "And did I ever get in trouble for it. Apparently, I was quite wicked as a young lad."

"I don't see how that's changed," she interrupted.

"Watch it, lass," he warned. She laughed. "_Any_how, when my pa wasn't around and I continued to disobey my ma's wishes, she would lock me in the cellar of our home. I would cry and whine and scream for her to let me out, but she made me sit down there in the dark for hours."

"That's horrible!" she cried out, trying to stifle her laughter.

"You say, as you laugh at me," he replied. "But I deserved it no doubt. And it's made me more comfortable living in that bloody cistern – what, with all the darkness and water."

"Your cellar was filled with water?"

"Well, no, but…listen, lass…do you want to hear the story or not?" He was becoming annoyed.

She snorted, forcing her laughter to subside. "I'm sorry, Brynjolf. Please…continue…"

"She would eventually let me out," he said. "She'd take one look at me and her entire face would droop. She'd be so sorry for having locked me away like that. She used to grab me by the shoulders and place kisses all over my forehead. And then she would sing me a lullaby while she dried my tears. And she did all of this without fail." He smiled wistfully into the darkness. "Sadly, it is by far my favourite memory of my mother."

He felt her curl into him. "That's lovely, Bryn. I don't think it's sad at all that her comforting you like that is what you remember best. What was the lullaby?"

"Ah, perhaps I'll sing it to you one day, lass," he replied. "But now, you should try to sleep. Let me stoke the fire a bit. Make sure that you'll be warm enough."

He eased his way out from behind her and adjusted the flames. The warmth immediately radiated outward again.

"You are too good to me," she whispered.

"I could never be too good to you," he replied, leaning towards her to kiss her cheek. He helped her settle on to her side near the fire. When he slid on to the ground behind her, she sighed contentedly and he draped his arm over her.

"Thank you for being there with us today," he whispered into her ear. "And for understanding why I did what I did."

She squeezed his arm, pulling him tight to her back.

"Anything for you…"

* * *

><p>Brynjolf woke up in the darkness of night, Marieka still in his arms and the fire extinguished. Yet, something didn't feel right. She was shivering. Her breath was shallow and uncertain. He rolled her on to her back and her arms flopped unnaturally. He shook her…tried to wake her up – but she didn't. He placed his hands upon her face and she was strangely cold. Even in the dim light, he could see her skin was pallid. She couldn't stay out here any longer – he had to get her somewhere warm.<p>

He jumped to his feet, straying from where he stood to eye his surroundings. To the south was the lake. To the north were mountains - and a steep incline impossible to traverse. And as he strained his eyes to see the top of the cliffs above, he thought he detected a wisp of smoke against the darkened sky, rising above the slopes to the northwest. It could have been anything, but the smoke suggested fire – which meant warmth. If he decided to go and investigate, it might have proved fruitless – or deadly. Yet, the benefits outweighed the risks when he measured the alternatives. Marieka's condition had worsened rapidly while they slept, and he needed to make a hasty decision that might mean the difference between stability and something he'd rather not consider.

The gear that they had accumulated would certainly weigh him down. He quickly decided to stash most of the non-essential items they carried within the mouth of the cave. When Karliah returned, she would be able to find it, along with a note he'd leave behind, advising her of the direction they travelled. She had the ability to track them – especially if he left her an idea of where they went. As he slung the remaining packs across his back – in particular the one containing the Skeleton Key and the Eyes of the Falmer – he eyed Marieka on the ground. Her breathing was still ragged. Taking a deep breath, he kneeled on the ground beside her and lifted her up into his arms.

He told her he would protect her. And he'd never leave her behind. He'd carry her as far as he needed to keep her safe.

Step after step, he advanced along the base of the slope that obscured whatever it was that was the source of the rising smoke. Her head lolled back as he walked, and he continually attempted to manoeuvre himself so that it would have at least rested upon his shoulder. As they reached a path that seemed to lead up the steep slope, he heard a small noise from her. She whimpered in his arms and he stopped, kneeling down to cradle her carefully.

"Marieka?" he called. "Come back to me, lass."

Her eyelids displayed the slightest movement and he put his hand under her head to hold her up. Before she opened her eyes, her mouth began to move as if she tried to speak. He moved his head closer to her, straining to hear her.

"Wh-where…?"

"Marieka, love…I'm here," he said, hoping she would hear him and know she was safe.

"Bryn…?" she whispered. "That…you?"

"Yes, lass. It's me. I'm trying to find some shelter for us," he told her. "Or a fire. Something to warm you."

"C-cold."

"I know you are, love. We're almost there," he said, attempting to reassure her. Though where 'there' was, he'd no idea. He hoped the smoke he was heading to was what he wanted…what she _needed_. "I'm going to pick you up again, Marieka. Hold on. You'll be warmer soon enough."

He readjusted his packs and then quickly scooped her up into his arms again. His motion was more hurried, more urgent as he continued through the trees. Soon after they were on the move again, following the path that wound its way up to higher altitudes. As the path opened up before him, he spotted exactly what he had been hoping he'd find. A dwelling stood among some trees near a small lake, smoke rising from its stack. As he looked at it closer, he noticed the wooden sign hanging from its eaves – it was an inn! Had they only ventured a bit further from the cave before Karliah had departed – they'd likely have prevented this from happening. He rushed the remainder of the distance, awkwardly opening the door with the Breton in his arms.

It was very early morning when he entered the inn, yet a man – presumably the innkeeper – stood behind the bar. He leaned over a large book, which he was reading by the light of a small candle next to him. When he heard Brynjolf approaching, he looked up. He gasped when he saw the small woman in his arms.

"Please, Nord," Brynjolf said. "I must get my…this woman to a warm bed immediately. She has fallen ill on the road and is injured."

The man hurried around the corner. "Of course. I'll show you to a room." He led them into a room of decent size with a large bed in its corner.

Brynjolf headed for the bed, carefully placing her on it. He pulled the covers out from under her and covered her up with them. When he turned around, the innkeeper had brought him several pelts to help cover her with. He nodded at the man when he handed him the furs, and quickly added them to the bed. There was already a small hearth prepared – it merely needed to be lit. The innkeeper took care of that detail, instantly causing warmth to spread from it. As he did so, the thief removed the packs from his back and lowered them to the ground.

"Thank you," Brynjolf said, more than grateful for the assistance.

"That's what I am here for," the man replied. "I am Hadring, owner of the Nightgate Inn, where you stand right now."

"Brynjolf. We will not require anything further," he said. "Though here is your payment. I suspect this will more than cover your price." He tossed the man a small coin purse; likely double what the man required for the night's accommodations.

Hadring nodded with a smile and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Brynjolf immediately returned to Marieka's side. Her breathing was more consistent, at least. He sat at the edge of the bed and began to stroke her hair.

"Marieka, can you hear me?"

She stirred, her eyelids fighting to open.

"Brynjolf…" Her eyes were unfocused as she attempted to look around. "I…can't see where…we are."

"Just relax, love," he replied. "We are in the room of an inn. It is near the cave we emerged from. Do you remember that?"

She moved her head slightly, nodding.

"Are you warm enough?" he asked. "I mean, are you starting to feel warmer?"

"Y-yes."

"Good." He brushed her hair back from in front of her ears. She closed her eyes again; he hoped she was falling back asleep. She would need all the rest she could get. He was also exhausted. He reached under the covers and removed her boots, tossing them towards the end of the bed. His own boots followed shortly after, as did the rest of his clothing, save for his underclothes. He shivered before sliding under the covers beside her.

Propping himself up on one elbow, he watched her breathing normalize. His concern dissipated as colour began to return to her face. He gently ran his fingertips across her cheek and chin and neck and shoulders. She was so soft under his touch; he was afraid to damage her any further than she already was. Reminded of their earlier conversation by the fire, he thought of nothing else but the lullaby his mother used to sing to him. It had always made him feel better. Perhaps that was psychological, but it didn't matter. It seemed strangely appropriate now.

And so he opened his mouth and sang to her as she slept…

"Bíum, bíum, bambaló…bambaló og dillidillidó. My little friend I lull to rest…but outside, a face looms at the window. When the mighty mountains fill your heart with burning desire…I play on the langspil, and soothe your mind. Bíum, bíum, bambaló…bambaló og dillidillidó. My little friend I lull to rest…but outside, a face looms at the window. When the cruel storms rage and the dark blizzard crouches above…I shall light five candles, and drive away the winter shadows…"

When he stopped, he rolled on to his back, putting his arms behind his head. He closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to overtake him. Instead, he heard a small voice from beside him.

"Brynjolf…that was beautiful."

He smiled at the ceiling. "As are you."

"I could listen to you sing forever," she whispered.

"I would sing for you forever, if you wished it," he replied.

But she did not reply. Her eyes closed once more and she fell asleep again.

"I love you, my bambaló."

* * *

><p><strong>Bíum<strong>**, ****bíum****, ****bambaló (Icelandic lullaby)**

Bíum, bíum, bambaló,  
>Bambaló og dillidillidó.<br>Vini mínum vagga ég í ró  
>En úti bíður andlit á glugga<p>

Þegar fjöllin fimbulhá  
>Fylla brjóst þitt heitri þrá<br>Leika skal ég langspil á,  
>það mun þinn hugann hugga<p>

Bíum, bíum, bambaló,  
>Bambaló og dillidillidó.<br>Vini mínum vagga ég í ró  
>En úti bíður andlit á glugga<p>

Þegar veður geysa grimm,  
>Grúfir yfir hríðin dimm,<br>Kveiki ég á kertum fimm,  
>Burflæmi skammdegis skugga<p> 


	19. Karliah II

**I made some minor corrections to the previous chapter regarding the path to the Inn where Brynjolf brought Marieka. Nothing major, but I finally found it in-game and realized exactly what it would take to get there from the cave. So I fixed things up...just in case reading about Karliah's journey doesn't seem to mesh. No need to read back...the edits are quite minor.**

**Oh Marieka. She's becoming exceedingly fun to write. Not much to say about this one...so without further ado...**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Karliah II<strong>_

_Breathe, keep breathing  
>Don't lose your nerve<br>Breathe, keep breathing  
>I can't do this alone<em>

'_Exit Music (For a Film)', Radiohead_

* * *

><p>It had been a long journey to and from Windhelm, but for Karliah, it was almost over. While cold, the weather was not especially harsh. The winds were kept to a mere breeze and the snows held back, falling lightly only for part of the trip. The second leg was easier; on horseback, she covered more ground at a greater speed. Even having to maintain control over the second horse, she made excellent time on her way back to Bronze Water Cave.<p>

When she arrived at the cave, however, it had been abandoned by her cohorts. She dismounted, calming the horses and tying them to a large boulder nearby. Evidence that a small fire had been maintained existed in the ash and embers near the sheltered entrance to the cave. She didn't detect any signs of a struggle; perhaps they left of their own volition.

Or were they in the cave?

She entered the small opening to the cave and headed further inside. Her steps and the dripping of water were the only sounds. If Brynjolf and Marieka had been in the cave, they were no longer there. She turned around to exit the cave, but noticed what appeared to be a small pack, partially hidden amount the fallen rubble. When she retrieved it, she recognized it as belonging to the Breton. She quickly opened it, hoping that they'd not have left behind the Eyes of the Falmer or the Skeleton Key. A sigh of relief sounded when as she rummaged through the pack, finding only potions, poisons and alchemical ingredients. Just as she was about to curse the two for not leaving her any help for finding them, her hand brushed across a rough piece of parchment, folded up within the pack. She pulled it out and unfolded it.

_K…_

_Complications have arisen. I have been compelled to seek shelter elsewhere. We shall follow the shadow of the mountain west until we are permitted to head north to higher ground. We plan to stop at the first opportunity and will wait for you there._

_Shadows guide you…  
>B…<em>

Well now…that was something. Compelled to seek shelter elsewhere? What could have happened?

She secured the pack over her shoulder and exited the cave. The horses would at least make the journey up the steep slope easier – provided she could find a way up. But if the two had found a way, no doubt she would trail them.

She untied the horses and mounted hers, the reins of the other firmly in her grip. She signaled for the animals to head west and they complied. With barely any new snow falling, the light carpet of snow on the ground would make it easy to follow their trail when she caught up with it. And shortly after, she did. She saw one pair of footprints in the snow – they were large enough; obviously Brynjolf's. Provided this was their trail.

Yet, there was no sign of Marieka. No other footprints. Did they separate? Was she simply mirroring his steps?

She followed the path along the base of the slope, as his letter instructed. There was a large indentation in the snow near a path that appeared to travel up the slope. She inspected the area surrounding the path and could see no further footprints. There was definitely the appearance that he – or perhaps they – had taken this route north.

Following the path up the southern slope of the mountain, Karliah noticed a structure near the top. She had the horses pick up speed and as she moved closer to the building, she could tell it was an inn. She hoped that Brynjolf would have chosen such a place to rest as he suggested he would. This was the first 'opportunity' she had seen for shelter.

Dismounting, she walked the horses over to a wooden structure between the inn and the small dock that stretched into a lake nearby. She tied them up before hurrying up the path to the door of the inn. She opened it and immediately felt the warmth from within.

A man stood at the counter. She headed towards him and as he heard her approach, he looked up and smiled.

"Welcome to the Nightgate Inn," the man said. "How can I help you?"

"I'm told some friends of mine might have passed through here," she said.

He eyed her carefully. "Ah, yes. I recognize your armour. I thought it unique, but... Are you a part of some sort of…group?"

"Please, Nord," she insisted. "My friends. Are they yet here?"

"Oh, of course." He pointed her in the direction of the room and she thanked him.

She knocked on the door.

Shuffling from within the room was followed by the creaking of the door as it opened a crack. She could see a familiar eye peering out the door at her.

"Karliah!"

The door opened fully to allow her access. She quickly entered, and Brynjolf closed the door behind her. Her eyes fell upon Marieka under the covers of the bed in the corner.

"She has fallen ill, I see?" she asked.

He nodded. "She has recovered a bit since last night, but has been sleeping for most of the morning. It must nearly be afternoon."

"Yes, it is," she replied, sitting in a nearby chair.

"I trust you found my note."

"I did," she replied. "And I bring your packs. Please tell me that you still have our valuable goods."

"Of course. It's good to have you back here, lass." He walked back over to the bed and sat down on it.

"Have you even rested, Brynjolf? Or have you hovered over her like a mother hen watches her chicks the whole night?" she asked slyly.

He looked at her as his mouth turned up slightly at the corners. "You know me quite well, Karliah. I _did_ get some sleep, but…"

"But you worry about her and cannot rest soundly."

"Correct," he replied. He turned his attention back to Marieka as she began to stir from her slumber. He smiled down at her as she opened her eyes.

"Bryn…you're still here…?"

"Where would I go, Marieka?" he asked, wondering why she continued to question his desire to remain at her side when she needed him. Perhaps it had something to do with those in her past. Perhaps she'd never had anyone she could really count on before.

She smiled up at him feebly. "I hope you never—" She paused, noticing Karliah's presence. "I'm sorry…I didn't realize you had made it here, Karliah."

"Please, don't let me interrupt," the Dunmer replied with a warm smile upon her face.

"When did you…get here?" she asked.

"Not a few moments ago," Karliah replied. "Brynjolf tells me you fell ill."

"I…" She looked up at him. "Yes, I suppose I did. I recall being by the fire…and then…here, in this bed."

"How are you feeling, lass?" he asked.

"Better, I think," she replied. "But then, I don't recall how I was feeling before. I just feel very…hmm…" She paused to consider her words. "I feel as though my head has been spinning for hours…that nothing is clear…or at least it wasn't. I'm starting to return to normal, I suppose."

"Good," Karliah said. "I wish we could postpone things longer, but the sooner we get to the Twilight Sepulcher, the better things will be for all of us."

Brynjolf sighed.

"What is it?" Karliah eyed him, sensing concern.

"I…don't think I can make the trip there," he admitted. "I must return to the Guild. I will see that you make it at least as far as Falkreath, but I'm sorry. I will have to depart from there. Delvin and Vex need to know what has happened. They will not be able to keep the Guild in check. Everyone is already on their last nerve knowing what Mercer did. They deserve to know that he's been dealt with."

"And I…I fear I cannot go with you either," Karliah added. "I cannot face Lady Nocturnal. Not yet. Not until the key has been restored."

Marieka forced herself to sit up in the bed and looked at them both. "So…so I will need to do this on my own?"

Karliah saw Brynjolf's expression change completely. He was looking at her face – she looked a little frightened. After all, it's not every day you try to return something that was stolen from a Daedric lord.

"I have confidence you will accomplish this task with ease, Marieka," she said.

"I'm in no condition to do _anything_," she replied. "How can you both think I can do this?"

Brynjolf took her hand. "Because you can. We'll not leave until you're well enough. And when you are, we both know that you can."

"This _faith_ that you both have in me is a little disconcerting," she admitted. "I'm not…used to this."

"Do you not believe in yourself?" Karliah asked.

"No," she replied. "No one has _ever_ believed in me. Least of all, myself." She shook her head, looking a little disgusted with something. Herself, perhaps?

"Neither of us means to push, lass," Brynjolf said. "But _we_ believe in you. Look at what you've helped the Guild accomplish."

"Brynjolf, please. Stop. I understand what you're trying to do. Gods know I appreciate it. But it's going to take time for me to come to terms with all of this. I'm barely hanging on to my sanity over discovering I'm…you know…" She hesitated, eyeing Karliah.

"You can tell her, Marieka. She'll find out soon enough."

Marieka sighed. "I am Dragonborn, Karliah."

"I _thought_ it strange what I witnessed as you kneeled before Mercer," she replied.

"Strange," she muttered. "See, Brynjolf? This is why I hesitate to tell anyone."

"I do not mean for the word to be an affront," Karliah quickly interjected. "It is simply not a talent I can witness every day. Though, perhaps now that we are all Nightingales, you will permit me to fight alongside you in the face of a dragon threat. It would be an honour."

Marieka sat, silenced by the Dunmer's comments. She carefully mulled over her thoughts before replying.

"You would risk death…just to fight alongside me against a dragon?"

"I would," she replied. "And I say this as a friend. Not simply because you speak the Thu'um."

The Breton looked at her hands in her lap. "You think me a friend?"

"Of course. You've helped me with my struggles to return to the Guild. You are no longer simply an acquaintance."

Brynjolf smiled as the two women awkwardly evaluated their relationship.

"Truth be told," she replied, "I've not had many friends. At least, not until I arrived in Skyrim. Now you damned fools are everywhere." She let a smirk cross her face; her shoulders relaxing from the pressure that had built up.

Karliah stood up, smiling at them both. "I shall take my leave of you. I don't like to find myself as the awkward third party to those such as you. I shall give you your privacy, my friends. I can almost hear Gallus…'Young love should be nurtured, Karliah. It should be allowed to flourish…'"

She saw the two exchange a secretive glance before Brynjolf leaned forward, kissing her forehead. Marieka closed her eyes as a look of comfort settled over her face. Karliah turned her gaze away from them, wiping away at a tear that had fallen upon her cheek before the others noticed she did. Her life on the run hadn't afforded her a chance to mourn yet.

Now that there was nothing left to avenge, what else was there but grief?

* * *

><p>After two further nights at the Nightgate Inn, Marieka felt well enough to travel. She suspected that during the long journey, it would give her additional time for the wounds she sustained to mend. During the quiet moments of the past few days, Karliah explained to her what would be expected of her once she reached the Twilight Sepulcher.<p>

She would be forced to follow the Pilgrim's Path to reach the inner sanctum of the Sepulcher where the Lady Nocturnal would receive the Key. She also suspected that without the aid of the Nightingale Sentinels that stood watch over the centuries, this task would be difficult at best…near impossible at worst. Still, she had faith in the Breton and her ability to overcome.

"Why else would you have come this far, Marieka?" she had said at the time.

Soon enough, the trio of Nightingales set out for their intended destination of Falkreath. They would stay the night in the small settlement, before Brynjolf would return to Riften to advise the Guild. Karliah had decided to finish the journey to the Sepulcher with Marieka – but she would wait for her at the entrance.

Karliah hopped up on to her horse, watching as Brynjolf adjusted their supply packs on to the other mount. Marieka stood off to the side significantly. She eyed the animal warily.

"I'm…not so sure about this," she advised.

Brynjolf looked up at her from his task. "I'll be right there with you," he reassured her. "You'll not fall. Is that what worries you?"

She nodded. "He's rather…high off of the ground, isn't he?"

"She…actually," Karliah corrected. "But she is quite a calm animal. Very well mannered. She's used to being a mount."

Marieka took a deep breath. "If you're both sure," she said reluctantly. "But I'm afraid I've no idea how to…get up there." Her brow furrowed as she motioned to the back of the animal.

"Leave that to me lass," Brynjolf said with a smile. He walked to the front of the animal, brushing his hand down her nose. She whinnied in response, sputtering at the man's touch. He walked back towards where Marieka stood, his hand running across the horse's muscular frame as he went. "Here. Give her a pat."

She scrunched up her face as she approached the animal slowly. Tentatively, she reached her fingers out and touched the coarse hair of the horse. She pulled back when the animal's great hooves lifted off the ground, stomping down several motionless steps. Brynjolf chuckled – she fought dragons, but was intimidated by this friendly beast. It was yet another quirk Marieka displayed that he found charming.

"Don't mock me, Nord," she warned him.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he replied. "Now here…grab these reins. Hold on to them and step up on to my hands. I'll help you up."

He knelt down in front of her, placing one hand on top of the other with their palms to the sky. He braced his hands upon his knee and watched her take a deep breath. She carefully lifted her foot and steadied it on his hands before leveraging herself towards the horse. He helped push her up and over the animal and she landed on its back. She immediately leaned forward, gripping the horse's mane tightly.

"Easy now, lass," he cautioned. "Don't pull her too much. She'll get nervous."

She eased up on her grip as Brynjolf made to hop up on to the animal behind her. When the two were comfortably seated, he nodded to Karliah and she turned her mount in the direction they intended to head. As they made their way down the steep slope ahead of them, Marieka became increasingly nervous.

"I…I can walk actually," she sputtered. "You can let me down. I'll walk this part."

Karliah couldn't help but laugh at her nervousness. "You're doing fine, girl. Just hold on to the reins." She looked at her then. Her eyes were wide and wild. Terror lit up her face. Brynjolf glanced in Karliah's direction and she shook her head with a smile. He tightened his grip on the horse's reins, and in turn, Marieka. She squirmed in front of him, nervous about every bump and shift the horse's gait caused her to experience.

"Perhaps you should ride behind Brynjolf," Karliah suggested.

Marieka looked at the Dunmer, her eyes opening even wider. "But…I'll fall off the back for sure then!"

"Not if you hold on to me tight," he said suggestively.

"Oh, now you're just making fun of me," she growled. "Have the two of you been planning this humiliation of me for long?"

Karliah laughed heartily. "No, my dear. We never expected you to be so inexperienced with this."

"I _told_ you I'd never ridden a horse!"

When they reached the bottom of the slope, Karliah dismounted and approached the other horse.

"Come now, Marieka. Let's get you resituated."

Despite her obvious fear of being on the towering animal, she managed to slide around Brynjolf so that she sat behind him _without_ setting a foot back on the ground. When Karliah returned to her horse, she looked back at them. The girl had wrapped her arms so tightly around his waist that he looked uncomfortable.

"Are you both going to survive this journey?" Karliah joked.

"Doubtful," Brynjolf replied. "Marieka, while I enjoy being held by you, I also value my ability to breathe. Could you perhaps ease up a bit?"

She mumbled an apology to him and loosened her grip a bit.

"Well, I admit that is a _bit_ better," he said. "Are you ready?"

When she agreed to the departure again, they headed off, allowing the horses to carry them at a comfortable pace. As the time passed, their speed increased, and soon enough they were galloping at a decent speed towards their destination.

At one point during the journey, Marieka spoke up, admitting her comfort level was increasing.

"I don't think I could do this on my own, but I _do_ feel much better about being on this animal," she called out.

Karliah and Brynjolf exchanged glances, pleased with her growing confidence…and almost enthusiasm for her newfound ability. The Breton was now – instead of burying her face in Brynjolf's coat – looking around at the scenery as they passed. She gripped his coat loosely, rather than locking her hands together around his waist. She certainly appeared as though she was more comfortable with this new form of transport – which Karliah considered a _very _good thing. Walking across the country was…challenging to say the least.

Over the course of their journey, they mostly survived through the small talk. Random comments about the weather…the vegetation…the wildlife they saw. Though, Marieka also saw fit to bring some more important issues to the forefront.

"Karliah," she began, "what do you plan to do? Once we've returned the Skeleton Key."

She pondered for a moment. "I imagine I'll return to Riften. Return to the Guild. It was a life that I'd have chosen to live had I not have been forced into hiding. Will you allow me to return permanently?"

"The Guild would be pleased to welcome you back as a full contributing member," Brynjolf said confidently. "We will need to rebuild, of course. And you are more than welcome back as a member of our family."

Marieka agreed. "Of course, you'll be welcomed back. You were an integral part of the Guild at one point, it would seem. That shouldn't change."

It made her feel excessively good – having the support of these two. She hadn't been offered assistance by anyone for so very long. Being welcomed back into the folds of the Guild's inner ranks was something she would cling to. While fiercely independent, depending on herself for everything had begun to take its toll. It was time to be able to accept the aid and support of those around her. Those with the same ideals and skills.

She would come to know her family once more.

"And what of the Guild?" Karliah asked. "There is no longer a Guildmaster, Brynjolf. I suspect we shall need to promote someone to the position."

"Aye," he replied. "That we will. I have someone in mind. Just need to receive the approval of Delvin and Vex."

"Who are you thinking of?" Marieka asked.

"You, lass," he replied. "You've thrown yourself in with the lot of us without hesitation. You have the best interests of the Guild at heart. And you've shed blood for it. I can think of no one more appropriate."

"No," she replied. "I cannot accept that. It is an honour and I'm more than flattered that you believe me appropriate to take the lead. But I cannot accept."

He looked over his shoulder at her when he felt her grip loosen on him further.

"Why not?" he asked. "You'd be perfect."

"Brynjolf, I plan on being in Riften more often," she replied. "But I will never be there enough to lead the Guild into the next stage of its existence. And my rise through the ranks has been bittersweet. There are more than a few there who would sooner stab me in the back than call me Guildmaster. You, on the other hand, have the kind of respect and experience that a new leader should possess."

"Me? No, I certainly don't want that kind of responsibility," he stated emphatically.

"So you think to push it off on me?" she scoffed. "Bah! You will be the new Guildmaster, Bryn. I will see to it. Even if it means that I am forced to be your second."

Karliah smiled at the two. Their back and forth was amusing…neither seemed to feel enough confidence to take on the challenges that faced them alone, yet together, they were driven. With several words of support, an entire change in demeanor could be seen.

Brynjolf sat up straighter on his mount, pursing his lips together in consideration of her words. Karliah could see the wheels turning – he _liked_ the idea of working so closely with her.

"I'm not sure Marieka," he said, in direct contradiction to everything his face was displaying. He glanced over at the Dunmer on her horse and caught her shaking her head. "What are you doing that for, Karliah?"

"Because you quite obviously are more than a little intrigued at the prospect with working with Marieka so closely. In fact, I no longer understand why you are fighting it so much, Brynjolf. You've apparently shared with her how you feel, and she with you…judging by the way you've both been looking at each other." She sat upon her horse smugly. She felt satisfied with exposing the farce that was the two of them trying to hide their feelings from everyone else.

Marieka patted him on the back. "There, there, Nord. Your secret's out in the open now, isn't it?" she laughed.

"Woman, do not taunt me with your false comfort!" he cried out. He huffed loudly before resigning himself to the decision he was about to make. "Fine! I will take on the position of Guildmaster if it is acceptable to the membership. And you will damned well be my second, Marieka! So help me if you neglect your duties as such…I will have your head."

"And just where might you have my head, I wonder…"

"Lass, we are in fine company," he scolded. "Bite your tongue."

Marieka's face lit up at the prospect of what kind of response she could give the man, but did in fact bite her tongue. Her expression spoke volumes though, all of which was not lost on Karliah, who chuckled, fighting back a heartier laugh from escaping her. The two didn't remind her of what she had with Gallus directly – no, they were far more blunt with their interactions and did not mince words. Their banter made her smile…it was refreshing to find such honesty between two thieves.

It also made the time they spent travelling go by especially quick. The many hours of their journey came to an end in the evening hours when they finally reached Falkreath. As promised, Karliah arranged for accommodations, and they spent the night before setting off in their respective directions the next day.

In an attempt to give the two privacy before they parted, Karliah made herself busy, feeding and brushing the horses before their journey. Still, it was difficult not to overhear. And not to watch as they spent several final moments of tenderness together.

"I am nervous about this, Brynjolf," she admitted to him seriously. "I know I'm a decent thief, but this whole Nightingale business is another thing. I'm no sneak. I'm worried that I'll not be able to reach the inner sanctum to return the Key. And then what?"

They stood with barely a gap between them. She was always forced to look up at him significantly due to their disparity of height; but it was never a bother. She seemed to enjoy looking up at him that way, as if the mere size of him was indicative of his ability to protect her…to shield her. She was at the perfect height for listening to the beating of his heart whenever he held her close. It set Karliah's own heart to flutter when she recalled how she used to listen to Gallus' heart beating on long, dark nights…it would soothe her…calm her very soul.

He cupped her face with his hands, his fingers breaking through the fringe of her hair. She looked up at him, teeth grazing her lower lip, awaiting his words.

"Just pretend that you are sneaking up on me…trying to surprise me," he suggested. "You've done it before."

The corners of her mouth turned down slightly. "I'm serious."

"So am I," he replied. "I know you have it in you to complete this task. We wouldn't send you if we thought otherwise."

She heaved a sigh. "I suppose."

"Just go with your first instinct. Don't hesitate and you will make it through," he said. "And when you return to Riften, I shall give you such a welcome…you'll not ever forget it."

A wide smile spread across her face, transforming it. Her eyes sparkled as she looked up at him. "I wish you could come with me. I shall miss you terribly."

"All the more reason to complete the task and hurry back to my arms." He embraced her then and she melted into his arms. "And my bed."

She pulled back to look at him. Her eyes narrowed at him as she flashed him a wicked smile. "You'd best leave me to my task, Nord, lest the Lady Nocturnal remain disappointed as we neglect to return her property yet again. Until we next meet…"

"I look forward to it," he whispered, bringing his lips to hers in an eager kiss goodbye. She pulled away from him, breathless.

Brynjolf led his horse past where Karliah stood. He faced her briefly to deliver a farewell. "Travel safe, Karliah. Watch over my Marieka…bring her back to me unharmed."

She nodded towards him and the two women watched as he began his long journey home.

* * *

><p>Several hours later, Karliah and Marieka stood at the entrance to the Twilight Sepulcher; its dark entrance standing in contrast to the serene setting that surrounded it.<p>

Marieka stood in awe of the beauty of the place, leaning forward to dip her fingertips into the stream that crossed their path.

"Sometimes the sheer beauty of this world astounds me," she mused.

"I am thankful for it as well," the Dunmer agreed. "It is needed to help us get through the darker times."

Marieka nodded. "So I suppose there's no sense in postponing this any further."

"When you are ready…"

"I am." She turned around and headed to the entrance. "I will hurry as best I can," she said, looking back at Karliah. She entered the crypt, leaving her behind.

As the time ticked away slowly, Karliah grew restless. She was nervous about facing Nocturnal…but even more worried that she was forcing her friend to make up for her own mistakes. She tied up the horse near the entrance and steeled herself.

She was going in after Marieka.

* * *

><p>"Karliah!"<p>

The Breton looked relieved to see her. But it also appeared that she had already completed her task.

"The Key has been replaced, I see?"

Marieka nodded.

"And the Lady? She is…pleased?"

"I'm not certain about pleased. But I'm still standing here, so at the very least, she is satisfied," the Breton said with a smile.

Karliah breathed deeply. "I…thank you, Marieka. You have done me a great service today. I can finally feel as though my life as a Nightingale is no longer forfeit."

"What happens now?" she asked.

"Now, we are guardians of this place. Of Nocturnal. Should anything threaten her sanctuary, we must protect her at all costs…in this life and the next."

Marieka tightened her lips, but eventually eased and nodded. "It is a strange thing," she said, "this…giving myself to a Daedra in the afterlife. I am not certain yet how I feel about it."

"Nocturnal is good to those of us who are good to her," she advised. "You shall not fear her in the beyond. Serve her well, and you will be rewarded."

"I suppose you're—" She stopped suddenly, looking beyond where Karliah stood.

"What? What is it?"

"You…you should…" She pointed, prompting Karliah to turn around. When she looked behind her, she saw a ghostly apparition. The noticeable outline of a man. A _recognizable_ outline.

"Gallus?"

"Karliah…you…you are here," he said…disbelief peppering his words.

"My love…I have…I have missed you so," she said, her feet leading her towards the wisps that he was constructed with.

"And I, you. But I am afraid my news for you is grim. I feel myself being pulled. Pulled by Nocturnal. She calls me to be at her side. It is a great honour," he said sorrowfully. "But I shall not see you in your waking life again."

She stepped to him, bringing her hand up to his face. He was there, but yet, he was not. The vision in front of her felt like Gallus…his presence was strong, but fading. She could almost feel his skin, cool under her touch. Yet the warmth of his soul enveloped her mind like a blanket.

"Fear not, love," he continued. "When you pass into this realm as I, we shall embrace once more. We shall stand together as sentinels of Nocturnal forever."

"Gallus…" she said. "I am sorry…"

"You should not be," he replied. "I'm not." She smiled at him…a tear falling down her cheek. "Do not cry, love. We will be together one day. And when that day comes, no one will tear us asunder."

She stepped back suddenly when his vision dissipated before her. She put her head down, and turned around slowly. Marieka – who was not in sight – stepped out from behind a corner.

"Sorry," she said. "I was trying my best not to intrude upon such moments."

Karliah offered her a fragile smile. "Think nothing of it," she said. "We've both had moments that we wished were more private these past days."

Marieka stepped up to her and squeezed her hand. "Gallus and I spoke earlier. The love he has for you is…enviable. I would give anything to—"

"You should not think Brynjolf's love for you does not run so deep. His care for you is profound. It is evident." Karliah reached out and embraced the woman in front of her. "Come, Marieka. You have completed your task, and we are free from this crypt. Let us return to Riften. Brynjolf shan't forgive me if I do not ensure you are returned to him safe."

Karliah could see in Marieka's eyes that she wished nothing more than to be back in his arms again.

And she knew exactly how that felt.


	20. Delphine

**It's been a little over three weeks, and this is the 20th chapter. I've had over 13000 views. I am blown away I tell you. Some of you authors out there perhaps get a lot of views - probably many more than I could even imagine. But this is a tonne for me. While I love my Dragon Age community, there seems to be a bigger Elder Scrolls set of readers. So I'm pleased as punch, I tell you. All of the reviews, story/author alerts and faves are making me giddy. I hope that I'm living up to the expectations that this story seems to have given everyone in the beginning. I'm happy to hear what you think about directions I've taken and where you'd like things to go. I take everything into consideration, and while I have a story arc now, I certainly write for you! Hope you keep enjoying...**

**I always find it humorous when Marieka arrives at a point in the game...just in time for a certain event to happen. Wow...amazing how that dragon showed up **_**just**_** in the nick of time for her to take it down. How appropriate that she happened upon a very convenient murder as she entered Markarth. Among other serendipitous occasions.**

**I trust most of you are able to catch some of my more subtle tongue in cheek pokes at these types of events in the game. If not, know that I recognize just how implausible it is for poor Marieka to continually arrive at the right moment. Her timing is impeccable.**

**Also, is it just me? Or is it exceedingly tedious to write dragon shouts into fanfic? I feel a little goofy using them, but hey...a battle's a battle, and if Marieka's fighting a dragon...she's using some shouts. So there. Cheesy as it is, she's gonna fus ro dah all over a dragon's ass.**

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><p><em><strong>Delphine<strong>_

Another day in Riverwood.

Another day that the dragons have spent hunting and causing destruction in Skyrim.

_When will the Dragonborn arrive?_

Delphine stood at the counter next to Orgnar, counting the coin they had earned as profit at the inn that month. The Sleeping Giant Inn had not been particularly busy in the previous weeks, causing her concern over whether it would survive. The dragon attacks at Helgen and Whiterun months prior had caused much apprehension for travellers in the Hold since they occurred. Riverwood was becoming all but a ghost town.

Though the problem with the dragons was not that they were scaring off visitors. Of course that was a worry, in particular for those whose livelihoods depended upon them. But the real issue was that there seemed to be no end to them. She'd heard rumours from across the land…that more and more settlements were being attacked every day.

And for every rumour she'd heard, it caused her to wonder more each day – _where was the Dragonborn?_

The Greybeards had called. She had heard it. _Everyone_ had heard. The Dragonborn must have responded for they'd have called again. And she knew that they sought the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. They would send the Dragonborn to seek it out.

When that individual arrived to claim it, they would find her note. The note she left for them in the hopes that they would seek her out at the inn in Riverwood.

Every day, she thought of that happening. And every day, she was disappointed.

"What's the problem, Delphine?" Orgnar asked. "You seem overly distracted by something today."

"Do I?"

"Well, you've attempted to count that same measly pile of septims about five times now." He smirked at her.

She sighed. "Yes, I suppose something is on my mind today. But it's not a matter for you, Orgnar."

"Right…well, should you change your mind," he replied with a smile.

She nodded at him, pushing the coins in his direction. "Perhaps you could give this a go. I've got some…actually, I have _nothing_ to do. I just need some time alone."

"Of course, Del," he replied. "Don't give it a second thought."

She smiled and headed towards one of the empty rooms of the inn. It wouldn't matter if she spent some time in there – it wasn't as though anyone would be using it that night.

As she puttered around, flipping aimlessly through several books found within the room, she heard the main door of the inn open. Probably some of the local children; they often used the inn when they played hide and seek. Delphine never cared much if they did...they had no one to disrupt when the inn was empty. And Orgnar would certainly put a stop to any rowdiness should the need arise.

Though, she was intrigued when she could hear footfalls approaching the front of the inn. With the door to the room she inhabited slightly closed, she couldn't see who it was that had entered. So she tiptoed to the door and peered out. A hooded figure, speaking to Orgnar in hushed tones. And a second...a Dunmer. She saw him point in the direction of the room she sat in and hurried back to sit on the bed, grabbing a book to quickly hide that she had been spying.

Moments later, a knock sounded at the door.

"Yes," Delphine responded. "Orgnar, come in."

A head poked in around the door. "It's not Orgnar," the woman the head belonged to said. "Though he did tell me you were the woman to speak to about a room."

"He could have certainly helped you with—"

"An _attic_ room," the woman interrupted.

Delphine jumped to her feet, tossing aside the book. "Come in! Please! Close the door behind you, dear."

The woman obliged and walked to the centre of the room. Delphine approached her, eyeing her up and down, a hint of recognition flickering in her eyes.

"I...recognize you from somewhere," she said. "The markings...on your face. I've seen you elsewhere."

"I've spent time in Riften lately," she replied. "And Whiterun."

"Whiterun!" she exclaimed. "It must be! My last trip to Whiterun was months ago, yet I know that's where it must have been. At Dragonsreach, no? You...were speaking to...Farengar, were you not?"

"I have spoken to Farengar," the woman said. "Though I apologize that I do not recall you, my good lady."

"No matter," she replied. "It is not important. My name is Delphine, and I have important things to discuss with you."

She sighed. "_Everyone_ has important things to discuss with me."

"Indeed," Delphine said knowingly. "Please...follow me."

She led the woman to a wardrobe, turning a switch and watching a hidden stairwell appear as the wardrobe slid to the side. They walked into the passage and Delphine led her to a room with a large table. She turned to face the woman and leaned against the table.

"I still do not know your name, Breton," she stated plainly. "You are from High Rock, are you not?"

She nodded. "I am. And my name is Marieka."

"It is good to finally meet you, Marieka," she replied. "I have been waiting for you for a very long time."

She looked at her strangely. "I suspect you are the 'friend' who has left me this cryptic note, rather than what I actually sought."

Delphine nodded. "I am glad we are not putting off this matter with small talk. Yes, I replaced the Horn with the note. I needed to speak to the one that should be called Dragonborn. I suspect that you are she. However, before I go into any further detail about why I have interest in you, I must know this for certain. You understand, yes?"

"I suppose so," Marieka replied. "What is it that you wish me to prove to you?"

"My research has led me to believe that the dragons in Skyrim are being...resurrected. There are patterns of burial sites that stretch across the country, and if I am correct, the next resurrection will occur near Kynesgrove. Do you know of it?"

Marieka shook her head.

"No matter," she replied. "I shall provide you with directions to the place. Or we can travel together should you wish."

"You'll forgive me if I'm a bit skeptical over all of this," she said, eyeing the woman carefully. "I'd rather travel on my own. I have a brief stop to make regardless."

"Of course," Delphine replied. "My intentions are not malicious, yet you have no way of knowing that. I accept your concerns. However, I must request that you are swift. If my predictions are true, we will need to be there within two days."

"And just what is it that we will do once we reach Kynesgrove?"

"We wait. When the dragon arises, you will know what needs to be done."

"You wish me to slay this dragon?" Marieka asked.

"Perhaps. Your actions will tell me what I wish to know," Delphine replied.

Marieka sighed. "Tell me how to reach Kynesgrove. I shall be there within the day."

Delphine mapped out the village's location and led Marieka back to the main hall of the inn. There, she approached the Dunmer she had been travelling with and spoke to her quietly, though not hushed enough to prevent her from overhearing.

"It would appear that my side trip will be leading to additional tasks for me, Karliah," Marieka said to the woman.

"I see," the Dunmer replied. "What shall I tell Brynjolf? He shall be displeased that I have not returned you home."

A smile crossed the Breton's lips. "You may remind him on my behalf that he does not have the hold over me that he _thinks_ he does."

"That should go over...well."

"Should he complain, advise him I will return to Riften at the first opportunity. And jog his memory about that rather extravagant welcome he mentioned when we departed from Falkreath," she advised.

The two embraced briefly and the Dunmer headed off. Marieka turned and approached Delphine once more.

"I shall not dally in my task," she said. "See you in Kynesgrove."

Delphine nodded, and the woman spun around and headed for the door. She looked at Orgnar, who by that point had understood he would have control over the inn for the next while.

"Yes, yes, Delphine," he said. "No need to explain. You're off on another one of your secret missions to save the world."

She smiled at him, before turning to pack up provisions for her journey to Kynesgrove. Her excitement over the possibility of this Marieka being the Dragonborn was hard to contain. She hoped the woman would become a very powerful ally for her – and her fellows. But that would be decided in good time. Until then, she had to make her way safely to the village to wait for Marieka's arrival...and the arrival of the dragons.

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><p>As Delphine stood on the pathway to the dragon burial site just outside of Kynesgrove, she looked around, wondering just when Marieka would show up. The distant call of a dragon echoing was without a doubt approaching. The woman <em>had<em> to make it there in time. Unquestionably she'd have other opportunities to display whether or not she was Dragonborn, particularly considering the sheer number of dragons appearing in the skies these days. But Delphine was concerned – the approaching dragon was most certainly Alduin, the World Eater. His return to Skyrim has signalled what many believed to be the fulfilling of the prophecy of the world's ending. Tamriel would fall to this beast should the Dragonborn fail. Even with her help, the world's survival was not assured. There was so much uncertainty at this point. _Where is Marieka?_

The thunderous flapping of a tremendous wingspan occurred close...too close for Delphine's liking. Yet as the roar of the great beast sounded near the burial mound, a familiar voice called out her name.

"Delphine!" Marieka called. "I see my timing is impeccable as always."

"Just in time for the show to begin," Delphine replied. "It would appear that we face Alduin."

"Alduin?" she said, shocked. "The very dragon that prevented my untimely demise?"

Confused as Delphine was with her statement, she ignored it, pressing on towards more important matters.

"I suspected it has been Alduin resurrecting the dragons," she said. "Hurry! We may be able to slay it before it has regained its full power."

She led Marieka towards the site. Their eyes fell upon the mound just as the creature was being awakened from its strange slumber. As the great beast climbed from the mound, its skeletal form was glowing; scales and skin forming atop it.

As Alduin hovered above the beast, his booming voice carried across the land. "Sahloknir, krii daar joorre."

"Delphine," Marieka cried out. "This one's not friendly. We need to take him down."

"Gladly!" the woman shouted. She pulled the bow from her back and arrows from her quiver, immediately setting her sights on the great dragon.

Alduin aimed himself towards Marieka, flying close to the girl and distracting Delphine from her aim. As she held her breath, fearful that the beast would pluck her from the ground, it roared once again.

"Dovahkiin, hin kah fen kos bonaar."

A bolt of electric current shot from the Breton's fingertips at the dragon, and Delphine could have sworn she heard it laugh as it flew higher into the air and away from them. Marieka quickly turned her attention back to the resurrected dragon, now fully formed. The distraction caused by Alduin had given it enough time to arise completely – and it was ready for the battle to come.

It roared its fiery breath at the women, causing Delphine to roll out of the way as Marieka stood her ground. The Breton _must_ have had some sort of enchantment on her to prevent the fire from burning her to ashes, and she began to assault the dragon with spikes of ice. It was slowed temporarily, but continued to fly, sweeping its long neck at some guardsmen that were attempting to help take it down. Two of the guards were thrown backwards, one crashing into a tree with a sickening crack. The other landed poorly on his neck and was knocked unconscious.

Delphine groaned to herself, knowing that the guards would not be of much assistance if they kept getting too close. "Stay back!" she warned. "Arrows only!"

Marieka glanced at her, almost smirking. At the very least, the woman was confident enough of her ability to take down a dragon at close range. Exactly what a Dragonborn should be.

"Tiid!"

_A shout? Was that the Thu'um?_

Delphine continued to draw her weapon at the dragon, loosing arrow after arrow; yet she could not help but notice that for a short while, the Breton seemed to move at lightning speed, grabbing her blade while the dragon was on the ground and slicing at his great claws. The beast roared at her, freezing her momentarily with its cold breath of ice. As the dragon made to clasp her in his grip, she shouted once more.

"Wuld!" She dashed out of his grasp, landing behind him heavily; losing her blade in the process.

The dragon couldn't move fast enough to turn to face her; Delphine was upon him, returning her bow to her back and grabbing her own blade. She sliced at him violently as he launched himself up into the sky. He roared another breath filled with fire at the ground, uncertain of where it would land. He simply wanted to be away from his attackers. He was not nearly powerful enough yet for this level of confrontation following his rebirth.

Marieka continued to use her offensive elemental attacks upon the dragon as it hovered above. Delphine once again pulled out her bow and volleyed more arrows at it. Other guards approached, also launching arrows at the beast. It was weakening.

"Fo!" cried the Breton, throwing the dragon off kilter and sending him crashing to the ground. Some of the braver guards – Delphine included – moved towards the beast, swords drawn. Marieka retrieved her blade from the ground and swung at the dragon's neck. Its head fell to the ground as it ceased all movement.

The dragon was vanquished.

As its body lay there, Marieka attempted to catch her breath as she sheathed her blade at her waist. She slowly approached its head, kneeling in front of it reverently. She placed her hand atop the dragon's head. Delphine stood behind her, listening to her speak.

"Sahloknir, your death brings me honour. Alduin was wrong to interrupt your slumber. I take your soul into myself and send you back to the earth from where you arose. Sleep well, great beast." As she stood up, ethereal waves of light began to flow from the dragon's body and into her.

_She is Dragonborn!_

Delphine's body began to quake with excitement. Finally...she had found the one she had been looking for. They would make haste for Riverwood once more, where she would explain that she was a member of the Blades...and what needed to happen.

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><p>Marieka crashed through the door of the Sleeping Giant Inn, approximately a week after Delphine sent her to investigate the Thalmor Embassy.<p>

"Marieka! Girl, you had me worried half to death!" Delphine cried out. "It's been days since Elenwen's reception. What's kept you?"

"Oh, the usual," she replied. "Injuries...a few sabre cats...oh, and there was the frost troll I encountered. Nasty creature, that one."

Delphine frowned at her. "Hurry. We have to discuss what you discovered."

When they had entered the hidden room once more, away from prying eyes and flies on walls, Marieka recalled the events of the night. She had discovered the existence of a prisoner kept in the lower levels of the Embassy. He had been repeatedly beaten and tortured for information about another existing member of the Blades.

"Esbern?" Delphine asked. "Curious. I thought for so long that I was the last of us. This is very good news indeed."

"Provided you're able to find him in time," Marieka pointed out.

"Of course, my dear," she replied. "And that is where you come in."

"Wouldn't expect any less," she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Tell me, Delphine...what would have happened if I had shown up merely a month after I did? We'd have missed all this excitement completely."

"Then I thank the gods that you have good timing," she replied. "Though, we'd have made it through in other ways."

"Of course we would have," she said. "So. Now what do you have in mind for me to do?"

"When you first arrived here, I overheard you speaking to the Dunmer," Delphine began. "You mentioned going back to Riften. I suspect you know of the Ratway."

"In a manner of speaking," she replied.

"I _also_ suspect you know of Brynjolf," she suggested.

Marieka raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps. Why do you mention him?"

"He is an old friend. He can assist you through the Ratway, should you require it. But it sounds as though you are better acquainted with that place than I think you are. Maybe even better acquainted with the man as well?" Delphine eyed her suspiciously.

Marieka's expression betrayed nothing.

"I see," she replied. "So I am to find this Esbern hiding out somewhere in the Ratway?"

"Yes," Delphine said. "And you must find him before the Thalmor can track his whereabouts. It is imperative that we find him now. Last I'd heard of him, he'd been studying the prophecies of the dragons' return to Tamriel. He predicted Alduin's return. And no one believed him." She lowered her head. "Not even me."

Marieka placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry, Delphine. We'll find him. Or, well..._I'll_ find him."

"You are a good woman, Marieka," she said. "I am pleased that you are the Dragonborn."

"That makes one of us," she snorted.

"Oh," she said quickly. "What of Malborn? Does he live?"

"He did when we departed from the Embassy," Marieka replied. "If he does now...I'm not certain."

"Please keep an eye out for him," she requested. "He is a good man and I should hope to see him returned safely to Morrowind."

"Of course, Delphine," she replied. "However I can be of assistance."

She nodded. "Now hurry off to Riften," she said. "I just know Esbern will be pleased to see you."

Marieka's face quirked and she bit her lip. Her eyes held within them a longing that could only mean one thing.

_And it would seem, young Dragonborn, that Esbern might not be the only one..._

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><p><em>Translations:<em>

_Sahloknir, krii daar joorre. – Sahloknir, kill the mortals._

_Dovahkiin, hin kah fen kos bonaar. – Dragonborn, your pride will be humbled._

_Thanks, elderscrolls dot wikia dot com._


	21. Sapphire

**Okay, so this one has a few things that I'd like to warn you about. It's got a bit of violence and some non-descriptive sexual situations…some non-con. And a tidbit of language.**

**So read on as you see fit.**

**Also, over on DeviantArt, my love for…er…I mean Marieka's love for Brynjolf has prompted me to set up a new group devoted to Bryn-related art and literature. Do a search on Brynjolf-TES and stop on by. Feel free to join too!**

**One last thing…thanks to zevgirl for putting up with my rantings over Bryn not leaving me alone. One day I'll be able to write a chapter **_**without**_** him in it. I promise. Well, maybe I'd better not promise that.**

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><p><em><strong>Sapphire<strong>_

The news of Mercer Frey's death spread like wildfire through the cistern. The thieves of the Guild were ecstatic that their unpleasant former Guildmaster had been taken down for his betrayal. When Brynjolf returned to the Ragged Flagon alone, rumours immediately took off that both Karliah and Marieka had been lost to Frey. It hadn't helped that Brynjolf himself had been exceptionally quiet about things since he returned.

It was no surprise that when Sapphire spied him signalling to both Vex and Delvin to speak to them, that she ensured she would have a front row seat in the Flagon. She sidled up to the bar to catch Vekel's attention. He promptly slid her a bottle of mead and she nodded her thanks to him, tossing him the coin to cover the cost. She nonchalantly sauntered over to one of the tables nearest where the three most senior members of the Guild had landed, sat down facing away from the group and honed her ears towards them.

"You've been quiet for long enough, Bryn. Out with it," Delvin demanded.

"I'm not certain where to even begin," he said.

"Why don't you tell us that you aren't the only one who survived?" Vex suggested. She had certainly been concerned. She didn't know Karliah well enough…and she wasn't overly fond of Marieka, yet the two women had more than stuck their necks out for the Guild. She'd have hated for either of them to have died at Frey's hand.

"They're both fine," he replied. "Had some other business to attend to. I suspect Karliah will be back to the Guild shortly. Marieka is…another story."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Delvin asked. "She not coming back?"

"I'm sure she'll be coming back," he said with a faint smile, "but _you_ know the way she can be. Coming and going as she pleases."

"Something tells me that with you, she might be coming more than going these days," Vex snorted.

Sapphire leaned back in her chair a little, chuckling to herself. So she _wasn't_ the only one to have noticed the signs.

"Oi, Bryn," Delvin began, "I _told_ you I knew something was up."

"And if you recall, I never denied it," Brynjolf replied matter-of-factly. "Regardless, that's not what I'm here to discuss."

"Fine. Keep your secrets, Brynjolf," Vex said, clearly annoyed that she would not be privy to any new gossip that day. "We'll find out eventually."

"_Any_way," he continued, "there is the matter of Guildmaster to discuss."

"We just assumed you'd be the man for the job," Delvin said. "Ain't that right, Vex?"

"Absolutely," she replied. "I can't think of anyone better. You are after all the best versed in every aspect of the Guild. It doesn't make sense to bring in anyone else."

"Are you sure, lass?" he asked. "I thought at the very least that one of you might be interested."

"You kiddin' Bryn?" the Breton scoffed. "And give up my cushy spot in the Flagon here? No thanks, my friend. You're far better suited for this job."

"We should bring this to the rest of the Guild," Vex suggested. "See what everyone has to say about it. Matter of fact, you could ask Sapphire over there right now. She _has_ been listening in quite intently."

Sapphire nearly spit out the mead that she had been attempted to swallow. She spun around, trying to look shocked at the mention of her name. Her efforts failed. Miserably.

"Try not to look so surprised, girl," Delvin said with a smile. "You think we can't spot a tail when we see one?"

The woman looked down, ashamed at being caught by her seniors. "I apologize for eavesdropping. But you must understand that there have been so many rumours. I just wanted to know the truth before everyone else did."

Vex laughed heartily. "We live and die by rumours down here, don't we? Well girl, out with it. What is your opinion on the matter?"

She looked at Brynjolf and smiled wily at him. "I think you would make a perfect Guildmaster. And I think the rest of the Guild will agree with me."

The Nord groaned and scratched at his forehead. "You're all a pain in my arse. You realize that I hope."

Delvin clapped him roughly on the shoulder. "It's settled then."

"It's _not_ settled, Del," Brynjolf protested. "We put it to a vote. Then we'll know if it's settled."

But it _was_ in fact settled. For who else was there to challenge the man for the position?

In the days following the conversation, the Guild seemingly returned to normal under their new leadership. Stability seemed to return as well. The gold began to flow in quicker. Jobs were being completed with fewer complications. Thieves seemed to be safer...lighter on their feet...easier to hide. The luck of the Guild was most certainly changing for the better. Most believed it had been Mercer Frey holding them back all those years. Yet whispers continued to echo...that there was a darker force at work behind the scenes. Whatever the case, Sapphire was happy that her family had finally found a groove that they could be content with.

She began to spend more time below ground – not needing to emerge to the streets of Riften unless she had a specific job to do. Though thanks to both Vex and Delvin, there were plenty of those.

As Brynjolf predicted, Karliah returned to the Guild, settling into her new home and her former job with ease. She was a natural thief and made no bones about announcing when she'd completed a job successfully. Most thieves in the Guild were starting to be more proud about their accomplishments.

But of course, nothing good comes without complications.

The day the Thalmor appeared in the Ragged Flagon was a day filled with tension. Out of the senior Guild members, only Delvin was present, and even he had a hard time intervening as the elves threatened Vekel for information. They were searching for someone in the Ratways and thought to press the Guild for what they knew. Luckily for Vekel they didn't expect to receive much help from anyone and eventually left him be. That didn't change the fact that the man was left reeling from the experience, breathing heavily and slumped in a chair for a long while after.

The Thalmor soon vacated the premises and moved back into the sewers to carry on with their hunt. The atmosphere in the Flagon was still heightened; on alert for further intruders to their uneasy peace, yet for many hours, no further threats arrived.

Sapphire had taken the intrusion as a prompt for her to learn more about these elves that entered their home. The Guild had many books and tomes lying around with plenty of information useful to the thieves within. After searching for some time, she came across some texts related to the Aldmeri Dominion and the place of the Thalmor within it; the 'benefits' of the signing of the White-Gold Concordat; and a Mer account of the Oblivion Crisis – highly slanted in its views that the elves were the saviours of Tamriel, and not poor Martin Septim. With books in hand, she made her way back to the tavern for a bite to eat and some only slightly better lighting for reading.

After a few mouthfuls of soup, a figure breezed by her, catching her attention.

"Marieka?" she called out. "Is that you?"

The woman spun around and removed her hood. "Ah, Sapphire," she said. "How do you fare?"

"Very well," she replied. "It is good to see you have returned."

"Returned, and yet am called away to duty once more," Marieka said, rolling her eyes.

"I trust you've been on the road for a long time," she said. "Perhaps you'd like to join me for some soup?"

The Breton stood for a minute, contemplating the idea, but then nodded. "Actually, that sounds quite lovely," she replied. "What's on the menu, Vekel?"

"Cabbage or tomato," he called back. "Not much choice today, my friend."

She approached the bar lazily. "Tomato sounds just fine." She leaned against the bar as he ladled a bowl for her and then tossed him several gold pieces. "Mead as well. I'll need _something_ to wash down this swill." Vekel's face drooped until he saw her wink; realizing that she was only joking around with him. She wouldn't be the first to insult his food, but at least she was good natured about it.

When she returned to Sapphire's table, she placed her meal down and slumped into the chair heavily. "Thank you for the suggestion. I sometimes forget to eat."

"How does one forget to eat?" Sapphire asked, amused. "My stomach tends to remind me, quite angrily, when it's time."

"Being on the road tends to put other things ahead of eating," she said.

"Oh, I see," she replied. She'd never been one for travelling herself, sticking mostly to Riften and the surrounding lands to complete her jobs. "Where did your travels take you this time?"

"I'd rather not get into it," the woman said quietly. "It has been an exhausting journey, and I'm just glad to be back here among the Guild. Say, you wouldn't happen to know if Brynjolf is around, would you? He promised to throw me a party upon my return." She flashed a wicked smile; a sparkle in her eyes.

Sapphire shook her head. "He and Vex are off on some goodwill mission to deal with Maven Black-Briar. The woman is no doubt chomping at the bit over developments in the Guild. You'd think that she had some vested interest in _every_ going on down here. Well, perhaps she does actually."

Marieka nodded. "That she does. But that is disappointing really. I had hoped to speak to him before I headed back out."

Sapphire looked at her, squinting her eyes.

"What?"

"Are you and Brynjolf...you know..." she said.

"Are Brynjolf and I...what?" Marieka replied.

"Come on," she pleaded. "You can tell me. Is something going on between the two of you?"

She could see the woman shift uncomfortably in her chair. "Sapphire, we barely know one another. Even if there was something going on, what makes you think I would tell you?"

_So she can lie with the best of us, can she?_

"It's just funny that he'd say what he did then," Sapphire said, attempting to bait the woman across from her. But she did not bite. She continued to remain ambiguous in her responses, not giving up any additional information.

"I'm not certain what rumours the man has been spreading around, but—" she trailed off.

"Of course. Rumours."

"You know, that highlights a good point though," Marieka said. "We really don't know much about each other."

"Isn't that a good thing in an organization such as the one we find ourselves in?"

"Not necessarily," she replied. "No, on the contrary, I believe it is important to understand who we are working with in order to learn their strengths and weaknesses."

"Perhaps," Sapphire said, slightly intrigued at the prospect to learn more about this woman. "What exactly are you looking to learn about?"

"Well, for starters," she replied, "I'm quite certain that Sapphire is not your real name. Lovely as it is."

"No, it is not."

"Is there a reason you don't use your real name?"

"Yes."

The stalemate that the two women were quickly approaching was already beginning to tire Sapphire. Yet the Breton gave the appearance that she would not give up until she learned something from the woman in front of her. She sighed.

"You're not going to let me get away without telling you _something_, are you?" Sapphire groaned.

Marieka grinned and shook her head. "Glad you're learning quickly."

"Fine," she replied. "I don't use my real name because I've been running away from something for my entire life."

"Aren't we all..." Marieka replied knowingly. "What happened?"

"When I was a girl, my family owned a hog farm. It barely made ends meet for us. Actually, I don't think it did. My parents tried their hardest to make it all work. To make sure that I would have the opportunities that they never did." She paused, looking at her hands and taking a deep breath. "And even with all the hardship I faced, I'd still take it all over what happened one night – just as the warm season was approaching."

Marieka looked at her intently, listening to every word she said. Sapphire felt nervous...wondering if the scrutiny was out of care or something else. Still, she felt compelled to continue her story.

"I...had just finished up feeding the hogs for the night. I had gone down by the stream near our barn to wash out the slop buckets. When I had finished, I turned around to head back to the barn and saw...this horrible man. I'll never forget his face. He was probably around my father's age at the time...but his face was dreadfully scarred. Years of living as a bandit I suppose will do that to a person. His teeth were broken and jagged. He looked as though he hadn't shaved in months and his long black hair was greasy and matted. He set my skin to shivers just looking at him. He reached for me. I tried to run, but he caught me by the wrist and wouldn't let go. I'd never been so scared in my life."

The Breton slowly took her hand, but said nothing, allowing her to continue.

"He dragged me back to our homestead. My mother was on her knees in front of another man, begging for mercy. I remember how she kept asking them what they wanted. She kept repeating over and over, 'take what you want, but leave us be'. I suppose I wish that she was a stronger woman. That she'd have fought back. But..." She hesitated momentarily, her eyes shimmering in the glow of the nearby torches. "It probably would have been over quicker for her if she fought. Two of those bastards took turns raping her...beating her. My father...he was..."

Her breath hitched for a moment and she took a gulp of mead quickly.

"My father saw that I was there. As soon as he saw me, he told me to look away. But they forced me to watch, just as they forced him to watch. When they finished with her, they slit her throat. I'd never seen my father cry before that night. They beat him, holding him down, but by that point, I think he had given up. He barely struggled. The man that held me hauled me over to him. One of the other men held his head up to look at me. And the horrible man told my father that they were going to do to me what they did to my mother again and again...that they were going to keep me around for their..._amusement_. Can you imagine? I was twelve!"

Marieka's face twisted in response to the story. "Oh Sapphire..."

"They killed him. Right there in front of me, they gutted him. He died with his eyes open...staring at me. And they dragged me away with them. They had a makeshift camp at the mouth of some cave system. I dreaded those caves. I eventually learned that whenever I was pulled into them, I would be raped. Repeatedly. By any one of them. Even the women participated. Gods they were horrible humans. But it was then that I had an idea. If these women were part of the whole thing, then perhaps I could gain their trust. Enough so that they wouldn't hurt me anymore."

She ran a hand through her hair, frustrated at how easily the memories were flooding back. Perhaps that was what happened when you left something to stew for so many years. When you didn't deal with it.

"I began to do everything they told me. I even went so far as to suggest that I wanted to be part of the next raid...wherever it was. I was nervous that there would be children involved...women...but was lucky when it was simply a pair of blacksmiths they attacked. They used me to bait the men...I pretended that I had been injured in an attack and they followed me into the forest where the bandits ambushed them. It was hideous what they did to them. But it was enough for them to believe I was to be trusted…part of their group. They let me be from then on. I learned from them...how to steal...how to fight...how to kill." She gulped her mead again. "When I had learned all I needed to know, I waited. I waited for the right moment...when they were all drunk from celebrating...who knows what. And I killed them all. I found the man that had grabbed me...his name was Calder. When I found Calder...alone in the cave, I made him believe that I was there to lay with him. He was disgusting and aroused. And as he began to put his filthy fingers all over me, I pulled out my dagger and cut him open from his throat to his belly. He died with his eyes open too..."

She rested her head in one of her hands.

"I don't use my real name because it's too much of a reminder of what happened to me. This is my new life. The only life I care to remember," she said.

"I am so completely sorry for what you went through, Sapphire."

"I've...never told anyone that story before. No one here. No one _anywhere_. How do you do that?" Sapphire asked.

"Do what?"

"You just have this way about you...makes me think that I can tell you anything and not be worried about what you'll have to say in return," she replied. "There's just something about you."

Marieka smiled and squeezed her hand. "Will you ever tell me your real name?"

"Perhaps one day. When I've been able to let go of what happened," she replied. "But not this day."

"I am sorry for requesting that you tell me that," Marieka apologized.

"No. No, it's something I probably should have told someone sooner," she replied. "But now you have to answer a question of mine."

"Anything."

"What's going on between you and Brynjolf?"

"Anything but that."

Sapphire smirked at her. "What are you so worried about?"

"I'm not worried about anything. I just—hey. What's got you reading books about the Thalmor?" She motioned to the texts that Sapphire had piled on the table.

The woman, a little bewildered at the sudden change in topic, looked at her oddly. "There were several Thalmor agents in the Flagon earlier today. Looking for information about someone in the Ratway."

"Shit!" Marieka jumped up promptly. "Sapphire, I hate to do this, but we'll have to continue our conversation another time. If I'd known they were here already...shit!"

She hurried off towards the cistern's back entrance to the Ratway.

"Fine, Marieka!" she called after her. "But you owe me an answer to that question. And it'll be _that_ question!"

Marieka spun her head around and looked over her shoulder at the woman. A glint in her eye told Sapphire that she might just get the answer she was looking for.

Or perhaps that she already had it.


	22. Esbern

**Just a thought, but to me, if Esbern is living underground, it doesn't make sense for him to know with certainty that Alduin has returned to Skyrim. Dragons, yes. Alduin…not yet.**

**Also, I have a bit of a different take on Esbern that many probably do. This spindly old man routine is all a farce. I see him as a bit of an indignant old crazy man. Which is so much more fun. Especially when you know that Max Von Sydow voiced him. Seriously. Go find a movie called Strange Brew, and tell me that he doesn't epitomize crazy old man. But yeah, I like the guy. At least, I did for a bit.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Esbern<strong>_

It took a lot out of a person to lock themselves away in a small room in the sewers to live like a hermit for so many years. But then, when one's life depended on no one knowing where they were, perhaps the alternative was more attractive than the prospect of being killed.

It was something that Esbern contemplated on an almost daily basis for the first few months of his self-imposed stint in solitary confinement. After all, what else _can_ a person think about but their fate when they have all but locked themselves away from the rest of civilization?

_Civilization…bah!_

If Riften – or Skyrim, for that matter – could be considered civilized, the man would have eaten his own shirt. The place was a haven for criminals – home to the legendary Thieves Guild. Or at least, it had been legendary at some point. Now the poor fools had been reduced to petty thievery and checking on an old man in the Ratway Warrens…bringing him food and supplies every now and again. He supposed he couldn't complain. He'd have died long ago without their assistance – or worse, would have been forced to leave the safety of his locked quarters.

Corruption with the local Jarl…murder…rumours of the country on the verge of collapse due to civil war. All of these things meant nothing to Esbern in the grand scheme of things. His research had led him to believe that there was a far greater threat looming…a threat that would see dragons returned to Skyrim. And for all the whispers and echos in the Ratway, he suspected the threat was closer than he cared to admit.

He had warned them…all of them. Alduin the World Eater would return to destroy Nirn. And if the rumours were true, it had already begun. Still, hope existed. A small hope in the form of the Dovahkiin…the mortal with the soul and voice of a dragon that could be the answer to saving the world. But he could not leave this place to seek them out. He had no knowledge that others of his order, the Blades, yet lived. Even if they did, they had all considered him a madman for his belief in the prophecies he studied. Perhaps if the dragons had returned…perhaps they would believe that what he advised was true. That the Dragonborn needed to be found. But was it too late?

_Did the Blades even exist beyond the four walls of this place?_

He _hoped_ so, for how else would the Dragonborn know how to defeat Alduin when he returned? Even with his years of research…countless hours of studying tomes and ancient lore and prophecy…even he had no idea just how the mighty god of destruction would be brought to his doom.

As his thoughts continued to fill up his head, he heard a shuffling from outside of his room. He'd heard more than his share of trespassers snooping around in these recent days. Most of the time, it was quiet. There were few 'residents' of the Warrens – for who in their right mind would want to live there? And in fact, the residents were most definitely not of their right mind. Esbern often wondered to himself if even _he_ was of sound mind these days. But the other residents mostly kept to themselves and to their own hovels in the walls. He sometimes heard screams…the shouts of insanity from the crazed tenants of the underground. Those that no one wanted to remember. But that if they'd been encountered, could never be forgotten.

But it was times like these…times when the noises were muffled and hushed that concerned him the most – it meant someone did not mean to be heard.

He approached his door slowly, double checking the locking mechanisms. It had also been barred from the inside so that even the wiliest of lockpicks would not find success against it. He thought better of sliding the small panel open to gain a view of what might be happening outside of his door. The muted sounds seemed to be right outside now, and he attempted to maintain the illusion that his side of the door was not worth looking into.

His heart sunk as he heard it – the knock sounding at his door.

Still standing close by, he placed his ear up to the door, trying to discern who might be on the other side before he investigated further. He thought he heard a voice. The muttering of a woman perhaps. Talking to herself? No one seemed to be responding.

He unfastened the wooden slide that allowed him a view to the Warrens proper and slid it carefully to the side. He peered out, seeing the back of a head…hair disheveled and out of place.

"Go away."

The girl spun around to face him. He peered at her through narrowed eyes, evaluating her potential for threat.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "You must be—", she paused, looking around behind her, "—Esbern."

_Harmless then._ But still…he wished not to be bothered.

"Go…away."

"Oh now, what in Oblivion did she mean for me to ask you again?" she muttered to herself. "Uh…where were you…?"

He watched her face, her brow furrowing as she struggled to remember.

"Ah!" she cried out. "Where were you on the 30th of Frostfall?"

He gasped. With deft fingers, he quickly unlocked the multiple locks on the door, and threw the bar on the door up to the side. The door opened quickly, causing her to start and jump backwards a step.

"Come in, girl. Hurry."

She stepped in quickly and he closed the door behind her, replacing the several layers of security.

Her breathing increased in pace. "Uh, do you…need to replace all of those locks?"

He turned to look at her. Her face was pale, her expression panicked.

"No need to worry girl," he replied. "This is for our safety."

He continued to replace the locks on the door and could hear her breathing return to a more reasonable rate. She had forced herself to calm down. He turned around again, watching her as she shifted her weight nervously from one foot to the other. Her fingers pulled at her dark armour, attempting to ply away at the heaviness of it without success.

"What is your name?" he demanded of his visitor.

"I am Marieka," she replied quietly. "And while you didn't answer my question earlier, I still maintain that you are Esbern."

He ignored her. "Delphine. She sent you?"

She nodded.

"She yet lives then. This news is…moderately unexpected. But pleasing." He ambled around the room, inattentively picking up seemingly random books and unrelated objects. "And just why did Delphine send you to me?"

"Because," she began, "you are in danger."

"We are _all_ in danger, girl," he cackled at her madly. "Tsk…and they called _me_ insane."

She squinted at him, unsure of what to make of his words.

"Please Esbern," she said. "There are Thalmor agents after you – just as they are after me. We _do_ need to hurry if I am to return you to Delphine safely."

"And just who says that I wish to go _any_where with you?" he scoffed. "Why should I return to Delphine?"

"I am Dragonborn, Esbern," she said quietly.

He stopped to turn to look at her. He eyed her, sizing her up.

"You don't look like much. You're barely the height of a small child. I could push you over effortlessly. And you look like your bones break a lot. Do you bruise easily?" he prodded her. "How do you expect to save the world, girl?"

She shrunk in front of him. "We need…_I_ need your help. Your research was correct. Alduin has returned."

"Ah ha!" he shouted. "No one wanted to listen to me! Not a one of you! How the tables turn…"

"Do you wish me to grovel, old man?" she asked. "Do you wish me to beg your forgiveness? Whatever you need me to do, I will do it. But we must make haste if we are to get out of here alive. I faced more Thalmor agents in those corridors that I care to think of. And they are not a particularly happy bunch, I might say."

He looked at her and smirked. "Quite the mouth on you girl. You insult me and expect me to come with you willingly."

She looked at him, exasperated. "I'm sorry for calling you an old man."

"Ha! But that _is_ what I am, no?" he exclaimed. "Very well. I will come with you. Return me to Delphine. I shall spare you the words that are meant for her ears."

He continued to shuffle around, picking up items of unknown import. She stared at him in confusion – his lack of care over his speed was grating on her nerves.

"We really do need to leave immediately. Can I help you get anything together? Perhaps a little bit quicker?" she asked.

"You're too impatient, girl," he growled. "I'm gathering important research documents. I certainly wouldn't want to leave these behind for those Thalmor to find."

Understanding dawned on her face and she smiled in spite of the rambling old man before her.

"May I begin unlocking these locks then?" she requested.

"By all means," he replied. "Just don't let anything in that we don't want to fight off."

When he had found all he wished to bring with him, he secured his pack to himself and looked around wistfully at the room he had found himself in for so long.

"I will miss this place," he said. "Strange…it will be strange for my legs to carry me beyond these four walls once again."

"Uh," he heard her say from behind him. "Perhaps you should stay in here for a bit longer then. We have visitors."

She proceeded out the door and he quickly stepped behind her. "Nonsense, girl! It has been too long since I have tasted the blood of my enemies!"

He transformed himself from a hobbled, bent man and stood tall. Mumbling several words, he summoned the ethereal form of a frost atronach in front of them both. She stepped to the side, watching as the mystical creature stomped down the ramp in front of them, hurling itself at one of the agents that had appeared below. He immediately followed up the creature's damage with magic of his own, sending spikes of ice at the other Thalmor.

"Are you just going to stand there, girl? Or are you going to help an old man out?" he growled.

She shook herself out of her stupor and pulled the staff from her back, sending a ball of flames at the Mer. Without much trouble, and thanks mostly to the strange and hidden powers of the Blade at her side, their enemies were felled quickly.

"You will be quite handy to have around on this journey, I see," she said.

"Ah, you'd be surprised at what the crazy old man act can do against an enemy, girl," he said, his eyes crinkling as he forced a smile at her. "Just don't get in my way."

She put her palms up to him. "No, I'd never dare to do that."

"Good," he replied. "Then Dragonborn, let's be off. I've been in these sewers long enough. And it would appear I have some gloating to do."


	23. Brynjolf VIII

**This started out a bit fluffier than it ended up. Sorry about that…I was listening to a lot of Tool and Trent Reznor.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Brynjolf VIII<strong>_

_All alone in this heat  
>My thoughts start to wander<em>

_Oh my lonesome in this worth  
>My hands start to long for<br>Your skin  
>My mouth starts to long for<br>Your kiss  
>Your kiss<em>

_I want you in my reach  
>Oh, the things I'd do to you<br>I touch you when I close my eyes_

_And the sun burns my skin  
>But it's outside and in<br>It's burning  
>Only you can soothe me<br>Come cool me down_

"_Lusty", Lamb (Rhodes, Barlow)_

* * *

><p>"What's got everyone's britches in a bunch in here?"<p>

Brynjolf smirked at Vex's remark when they entered the Ragged Flagon after their dealings with Maven Black-Briar. The woman could put a damper on the fieriest star in the sky, and Vex usually enjoyed finishing up a day of dealing with the woman with a good fist fight if she could provoke it.

She was right, however. Everyone in the Flagon that day looked particularly on edge.

Vekel motioned for them both to approach him. As they did, he looked around nervously.

"Thalmor agents were by earlier," he advised. "Said they were looking for that fellow that lives in the Warrens."

"Esbern?" Brynjolf asked.

Vekel nodded. "Don't know much about him, but no one deserves to deal with them folk on their own."

The two agreed with him. "Where did they go?" Vex asked.

"I suspect they headed into the Ratway, but don't know how far they got. I didn't let on that I knew him or where he's been holed up," Vekel said.

"We've got another delivery for the man, don't we?" Brynjolf suggested. "Perhaps I'll bring it up to him. Make sure he's not been found."

"Sure that's smart, Bryn?" Vex asked. "You don't want to lead them straight to him."

"Vex, please," he said. "It's me."

"Exactly why I'm worried," she smirked.

He shook his head as Vekel passed him a sack of supplies to bring to the old man. As he left the Flagon, he felt at his belt, ensuring that his daggers were nearby…just in case.

The second he stepped into the Ratway Vaults, he could smell blood. One could usually smell blood in that place, but this was different. This was fresh. He made his way through the labyrinthine corridors, stairwells and ramps until he came across several bodies. The first two were Thalmor agents – he could tell by their robes. The lack of arrows and blade wounds suggested that they had been felled by other means – magic perhaps. He checked them for any indication of what they were after regarding Esbern, but there was nothing to say one way or the other. Their bodies had been picked clean of anything valuable.

The third body looked more familiar. He'd seen this man skulking around the Flagon recently…spoken to him even. Gissur. Just a beggar, but always suspicious. He wondered if the man had been caught in the crossfire of whatever skirmish had taken place here. He wouldn't have checked the man's body for anything of value – he was a beggar after all – yet something caught his eye.

Lying in the gap between his twisted arm and torso, a small parchment could be seen, crumpled into a ball. Brynjolf bent down to retrieve it, smoothing it out as he held it towards a nearby torch for light.

_Description of target:_

_Breton. Female. Believed to go by Marieka, but may be an alias. Likely to be inquiring about "Esbern" and the Ratway._

_Do not approach. Inform your assigned contact immediately if spotted._

Gissur…a Thalmor spy? Tightness gripped his stomach.

_Marieka! They're after her as well!_

He furrowed his brow as concern spread across his face. If she were here, he'd have to find her. Was it she who had crumpled this note? Killed these men? He continued through the sewers towards the Warrens. He could hear the sounds of conflict echoing throughout the culverts and drains. He padded his way quickly to the source, until he could no longer hear the sounds. As the Warrens opened up before him, he flattened against a wall when he saw figures on the upper levels. They weren't visible enough to detect who they were, and they didn't speak. Peering around the corner, he looked up at where they had come from. Over the ledge of one of the raised walkways, a body lay, its boots having the appearance of the dead Thalmor agents he spotted earlier. A second was on the ground at the base of the stairs.

Fairly certain that whoever was up there was _not_ one of the Thalmor, he sprang from his hiding place and rushed into the light. One of the figures peered down in his direction, spotting his rather conspicuous movements.

"Brynjolf!"

"Marieka! Thank the gods! It _is_ you!" he cried out, relieved to see her. He could now see an older man next to her. It had to be Esbern. He'd never truly seen the man – only spoken to him through the door. And Vekel almost exclusively handled the deliveries

She and the man headed down the ramp towards him and when she reached him, embraced him warmly. It was becoming more difficult for him to hide his emotions for her – especially when he'd not seen her for days. He held her for long moments, until he glanced over at the man who was staring directly at the two.

He pulled back from her and looked at the man. "I suspect you are Esbern," he said. "I've never seen you leave that place." He motioned towards the upper levels where the man resided for many years.

Esbern nodded. "I am. I recognize your voice. You're one of the Guild."

"Pleasantries aside," Marieka interrupted, "I have to get Esbern out of here immediately. If the Thalmor managed to make it here as quickly as this, it'll be safer for the both of us if we go now."

"Go where?" Brynjolf asked. "Where are you taking him?"

She looked around, hesitating. "I'll not say for fear that someone should overhear and follow. But I'll return as soon as he is safe at our destination."

"Let me come with you, lass," he suggested.

She shook her head. "No. We need to move quickly without attracting too much attention. Get things in order with the Guild, Bryn. I'll be back before you know it."

He sighed. "If you're certain…"

"I am," she said with a smile. She reached for his hand and squeezed it.

"Be careful."

She winked at him before turning around and heading off with Esbern into the darkness of the tunnels.

As she left, it took every bit of energy he had not to follow her. But he knew she'd be back.

She always came back.

* * *

><p>The days that Marieka was not at his side dragged. Brynjolf kept busy enough, trying to complete research into where Frey had fenced the goods stolen from the Guild, but it was fruitless. They'd likely never see any of the items again, and they certainly wouldn't see the gold. Still, it passed the time between the discussions with his senior members regarding their attempts to get things humming smoothly once more.<p>

New recruits had been introduced to the Guild as well – and training them was often a more pleasant way to spend the long hours in the cistern than with his head in a book. If he was going to read, he'd at least have preferred it to be something that wasn't as mundane as transaction records for years and years of the Guild's past.

Despite being the son of farmers, he was surprisingly well educated. His parents insisted that he be sent to learn with the sons and daughters of the upper crust of Skyrim's citizenry. They purchased him fine clothing and saved up enough money to send him to live in Windhelm with his uncle, the assistant to the blacksmith in the city. There he discovered that he had a penchant for writing and a knack for currency and calculations. He was by no means a stupid child, but was distracted easily in his studies. And he had also been quickly discouraged from his writing by his uncle.

"How will you ever raise and support a family if you continue to daydream about your poetry? Be practical, boy," the man had told him.

Brynjolf conceded that he was right, but could never have seen himself as a blacksmith. Or even a farmer like his parents.

Unfortunately for residents of Windhelm, what he did find himself drawn to due to this discouragement and his distractions was not exactly a career path that was on the level. He developed somewhat of a new hobby – deception. He quickly learned to use his words to deceive and confuse…to mislead and con. In his early teenage years, he encountered small groups of like-minded individuals, and those groups sowed the seeds of interest for joining the Guild.

The group in Windhelm wasn't the same as the Guild he now led – not by a long shot. It was a small group of young miscreants that roamed the streets, trying to take anyone for whatever they could find. But not one of them was truly like Brynjolf. They were mostly poor…some homeless, begging for scraps in the streets. He was the only one who had obtained an education in the traditional sense of the word. Yet his charisma drew them to him…never pushed them away. He never spoke down to them…never treated them worse because of where they came from.

For despite all his proper upbringing and well intentioned lessons from his parents, his actions were no better than the rest of them. He was a thief. A lying, conniving, deceitful, manipulative swindler. Ready to stab anyone in the back over a few extra septims. Most often figuratively, but there were a few times that happened in the more literal sense.

Still, when he had told Marieka the truth of who he was…where he had been…what he had become…she never flinched. She looked at him with reassuring eyes; accepting all of him. Everything he was and would be. And in that moment, he realized something…her absolute acceptance of him made him want to be a better man.

Perhaps that was part of the reason why he'd felt so…_lost_ without her around. As though he was losing that part of himself that he'd only just discovered.

_Or maybe you're just acting like a lovesick fool, Brynjolf._

Was Mercer right? Was this the most foolish move he had made by letting himself fall in love again?

_What am I? Eighteen again? Pining over this girl like an idiot. Acting as though if I never saw her again, it would be the worst thing in the world._

But…wouldn't it?

"For Talos' sake," he muttered to himself. "Grow up, Brynjolf. You're acting ridiculous."

He leaned on the desk in front of him, looking out across the cistern. Movement from the corner of his eye distracted him, and when he turned to see what caught his eye, he saw her.

When their eyes met, the smile that illuminated her face did so completely…so fully that she was all but glowing. Every thought of not seeing her…not being in love with her…not thinking of her…melted away as she walked toward him. She still wore the armour of the Nightingales. It was slightly scuffed; a little dirty. Her hair was as it usually was – tangled and in her eyes. A bit of grime still smeared her cheek. And he smiled, knowing that all of this indicated that she hadn't gone home. She'd instead come straight to the cistern. Straight back to him.

He stood tall to greet her. As she stood in front of him, he placed his hands upon her shoulders protectively.

"Marieka," he said. "I'm so relieved that you are back."

"You know that you don't have to worry about me as much as you do, Brynjolf," she said, playfully touching him on the nose with a pointed finger.

"But I do," he said, letting his arms fall to his sides, exasperated at her continued protests.

"I know."

They stood looking at each other for a few moments, before his eyes shifted, looking at their surroundings. Many meddling eyes were upon them.

"Come with me," he said, leading her in the direction of the training room. He hoped that no one was there. He _prayed_ that no one was there.

When they turned the corner to the room and no sounds came from within, he stepped aside, allowing her to walk ahead of him. He quickly glanced behind, wanting to ensure that no one was following them. She entered the room, and as he followed and closed the door behind them, she turned around; waiting expectantly for him to say something.

Instead, he met her gaze with a predatory look. Her lips turned up with the hint of a smile and he was instantly upon her. His mouth pressed hungrily upon hers; his tongue savouring her taste as her lips parted. He grabbed her roughly by the hips, forcing her backwards into a training dummy. She moaned in response as he pressed his pelvis into her; feeling his want for her. He could hear her breathing become punctuated as he moved to kiss her neck, running his mouth down the length of it. Yet there was resistance from her. She pushed him gently away from her, catching her breath as she looked at him with an insinuation of yearning.

"Gods Marieka, I _need_ you," he begged.

"And you will have me," she replied sweetly. "But not here."

"Where? I will take you there _right now_," he demanded.

She ran her finger along his jawline. "Eager, are we?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Breton, if you continue to tease me…"

"I do not _mean_ to tease you, Brynjolf," she replied. "But there are enough prying eyes here to give me pause. Everyone suspects…"

"Everyone _knows_," he corrected. "But damn you, woman…you're right. You deserve better than a training room anyhow."

"I deserve nothing," she said. "I would be happy with you in a stable. In a…crypt!"

He scrunched his face up in disgust.

"Hmm, perhaps that one not so much," she quickly replied. "But…in…in the…Bee and Barb!"

She had a glint in her eye that told him not to dally. He grabbed her by the wrist and led her back to the cistern. As they hurried towards the back exit from the Guild, Delvin noticed them.

"Oi, Bryn!" he shouted.

Barely acknowledging him, he continued on.

"Got some jobs for you Marieka," he continued.

"Maybe tomorrow, Delvin," she called out behind her, just before the door closed behind her, leaving her fellow Breton behind, chuckling to himself.

* * *

><p>Brynjolf stood at the counter of the Bee and Barb, impatiently rapping his fingers upon it. Marieka stood close to his side, attempting to stifle her giggles over his annoyance.<p>

"Damn it, Keerava," he growled. "Where are you?"

"Right behind you, Nord," she replied. "Be patient."

He huffed as the Argonian made her way behind the counter, not hurrying up to do him any favours.

"Now, what _is_ it?"

"I'd like a room," he said bluntly, tossing a small coin purse on the counter.

She looked at him. Then at Marieka. Then back at him.

"Sure you do."

"Don't toy with me, Keerava!" He squinted his eyes at her, leaning toward the counter menacingly.

"Bah!" She flipped open a large guest register, opening it to the most recent entries. She reached below the counter for a lockbox and opened it to pull out a key. She handed him a key.

"Up the stairs, third door on the right," she said.

"See how painless this can all go when you just cooperate?" he said with a smirk.

She glared at him for a moment and wait for him to walk away before calling out after him – just to ensure that the rest of the tavern could hear her. "You and the Thane keep it down up there, will you?"

He spun around, glowering at her, as Marieka pulled her hood back over her head and shuffled to the stairwell quickly.

When they were halfway up the stairs, she fell against the wall, laughing hysterically.

"I can_not_ believe she said that!"

"Yes, well, I _intend not to keep it down!_" he yelled back down the stairs.

She buried her face into her hands, continuing to laugh all the way up the corridor. When she reached the room Keerava had pointed them to, she turned around to see Brynjolf with his ear up to the first door in the hallway.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" she asked with a hand upon her hip.

"Checking to see if there's anyone else up here," he responded, as if it were something that absolutely any sane person would do.

She laughed again, watching as he continued to the next door to do the same.

"You are absolutely crazy," she said. "Without a doubt."

He nodded. "Oh yes, lass," he replied. "And yet, you're here with me in all my insanity."

"Oh dear," she said, furrowing her brow. "Crazy by association, then?"

He grabbed her by the waist and spun her out of the way, deftly maneuvering the key into the lock. As the door opened, he nudged her inside, closing and locking it behind him.

"So?" she asked, standing in front of him.

He cocked his head, unsure of what she asked.

"Is anyone else up here?" The skin at the corners of her eyes crinkled when she smiled at him. Her expression and the sound of her voice almost made him forget the question. He quickly shook his head with a devilish grin.

"And do you know what that means?" he asked, a glint in his eye as he stepped towards her.

She shook her head. He pulled her hood down, tangling his fingers into her hair as her head tilted back in his hands.

"It means no one will hear what I'm about to do to you," he purred into her ear, leaning to kiss the side of her face.

She squealed as the coarse bristles on his face brushed up against her throat while he moved his lips to kiss her neck. His hands moved from her hair down her body until he had unexpectedly scooped her up into his arms. He continued to kiss her as he carried her to the bed, tossing her on to it and pouncing upon her.

Soon, armours flew…boots were removed…and the two settled into an increasingly comfortable exploration of the other. There was no holding back, much to the chagrin of the innkeeper on the floor below, but the drunks in the tavern cared not for such things. In fact, they barely noticed as the room filled with noisy patrons and clinking glasses.

And it wasn't as if the two upstairs cared either. For a short time, they were the only two people in Skyrim that existed…alone in that room.

* * *

><p>Brynjolf awoke…head resting gently upon the shoulder of the naked woman below him. Her heart beat steadily, sounding quiet comfort into his ear. Her soft skin was cool against his face. He still felt her hand in his hair, relaxed at the back of his head. She never slept soundly, so when he moved almost unnoticeably, she still stirred when he did so. Without lifting his head, he looked up towards her, and as her eyes opened slowly, a smile spread upon her face.<p>

"Hello there."

He leaned to kiss the middle of her chest softly. "Hello, love," he said. "Gods, I've missed being with you."

"As have I," she replied.

He moved his arm under her, pulling her towards him and rolling on to his back. She gave in to his movement and found herself lying on top of him, looking down into his eyes. He held her there with his hands on her hips, fingers resting lightly upon her buttocks. She brought her hands up to rest upon his chest, placing her chin on them, yawning as she blinked away her slumber.

She felt perfect laying there on him.

"I never asked how your travels fared," he said, thinking of the whirlwind of events that led them to this bed.

"And you don't have to," she replied. "It was fairly uneventful. Which, I must say, is _really_ nice."

"I'm glad," he said with a smile. "It's been…difficult lately, hasn't it?"

"Well, I certainly haven't had much time to just breathe, if that's what you mean by difficult." She sighed, thinking back to the tumultuous events in recent weeks. She lowered her head on to his chest, and he brought his hand up to brush her hair gently. "I'm just very happy to be back here with you. I'd really like it if I could stay here for a little while."

"Marieka, you could stay here for the rest of your days," he said. "You know that."

"I wish that were true," she replied. "But you know that won't happen."

"Yes, I know."

"Oh, let's not mar this moment with thoughts of the things we cannot change," she said quietly.

"Is there something bothering you, lass?"

She lay quietly for some time before responding to him.

"Just something that happened in the Warrens…it's been on my mind for a while," she finally admitted.

He didn't speak, merely wrapped his arms around her to prompt her to continue.

"It was…in Esbern's hovel," she began. "He locked the door. He locked the door and my entire body just seized up. I panicked and I…I don't understand why. I've been really working at my lockpicking. I can get in and out of most places, but that…it just…"

"Did you feel trapped in there? Was it him?"

"No," she said. "I don't think that was it. But all I could think of was…"

"What?" he finally asked as she hesitated to continue.

He felt her take a deep breath. "It was a number of years ago. A few nights after the twenty first anniversary of my birth. I suppose the pinnacle of my rebellious years. I'm sure there was a point in your life where you felt…invincible." She lifted her head back up to look at him, resting her chin on his chest.

"Ah yes," he replied. "Of course, that was quite a long time ago."

She looked beyond him at the wall behind the bed. "I didn't have many friends back then, but there was one girl that I spent quite a bit of time with. And well…Lisette was not exactly a good influence on me."

He could tell there were fond memories of the girl, yet something else was underlying them.

"We decided that we would head to the local tavern to celebrate the occasion. Or rather, _Lisette_ decided that we should celebrate. Gods that girl was gorgeous. She was tall for a Breton. Had this beautiful dark, silky hair that just went on for days. Sparkling dark brown eyes. And she had those ample breasts that you Nords are so fond of in your women. Men fawned all over her whenever we went anywhere. I swear that she brought me just so that she would look even more beautiful next to how plain I was."

"You're by no means plain, lass," he said, trying to reassure her.

"Compared to her I was," she said without emotion. "The attention that was paid her over me never bothered me to tell the truth. I didn't like to be the centre of attention. You might have noticed, I'm still not comfortable with that."

"I _had_ noticed that, actually," he joked.

She smiled at him, but her eyes quickly darted away again.

"In any case, things started out fine. We were having quite a bit of fun that night," she said. "There were a couple of bards in the tavern and they would sing back and forth, trying to see who would get more coin for their performances. But of course, Lisette had the mad idea of getting their attention to sing to me. That in itself wouldn't have been a problem if it stopped there, but with Lisette, it never did. The bards singing soon led to several other patrons becoming involved in the celebrations…including a small troop of Imperial soldiers. They were all fairly young, probably not more than a year or so older than we were at the time."

She scratched at her forehead nervously.

"A few of them were quite intoxicated by that point. I don't even know what they were doing in High Rock. In Wayrest, we were more likely to see Redguards than we were Imperials. They probably had just arrived in the area. I suppose that's perhaps why they took such interest in us," she shrugged. "Or…well, in Lisette. She ended up leaving me behind as she went off with two of those soldiers. Gods know what they got up to that night. Though I'm sure you can imagine."

She rolled her eyes and sighed.

"Of the four or so soldiers that remained at the table with me, only one paid me any mind really," she continued. "I wasn't feeling very comfortable with the rest of them, alone as I was. So I thanked them for not completely abandoning and ignoring me once Lisette had left me, and left the tavern. It was late…and the skies were dark. I remember that the moons were barely even perceptible. My home was quite a walk from the tavern. I was nervous about making it on my own. But I started out anyway. A little ways down the road, one of the soldiers caught up to me. It was the one who seemed to have taken a liking to me…at least as second prize to Lisette. He asked if he could walk me home. He seemed friendly enough, and I _was_ nervous. So I agreed." She bit her lip and started to shake her head. "That was a horrible decision."

"What happened, lass?"

"When we were far enough from the tavern, and most of the homes in the area, he started to make comments about how he'd never…_been with_ someone as small as me before. How he wondered if it would be different from an Imperial woman. How he had always wanted to fuck someone who would just shut their mouth and do what they were told," she said, the words spilling out as if they were poison to her. "Needless to say, I was beginning to fear for my life – his words were like knives as he spoke to me. So I did the only thing I could think of. I ran. I ran faster than I had ever run before…but of course he caught up to me. How could I outrun someone whose one step spanned the distance of two of mine?"

He pulled the cover that rested loosely upon her lower half up towards her back, wrapping it securely around her. She continued to avoid eye contact with him, instead looking at his chest…his arm…his shoulder…anywhere but his eyes.

"He knocked me to the ground…held me down. I was certain it was over for me then. I thought that he would assault me and probably kill me to shut me up for good. And so I fought back as he tried to pin me down. My magic wasn't…well-formed back then. I tried to send fire…a current…anything at him, but it did nothing but just make him angrier. He pulled a dagger out and sliced across my face a couple of times." She pointed to her cheek. "That's where these came from."

He reached up to caress the scarred cheek and she turned away from his hand. Instead he brushed her hair back from her face, letting his hand fall to her neck.

"I couldn't get away from him," she said. She took a large breath as creases formed in her forehead. "The last thing I remember of that night was his fist coming down into my face. He must have knocked me clean out, for the next thing I remember, I was in a small room with a locked door. And it's the only thing I could think of when Esbern locked his door that day. I felt trapped. Lost. I haven't felt those feelings for a very long time, Brynjolf. It scared me beyond comprehension."

He once again wrapped his arms behind her back, trying to give her the feeling of security…protection. Letting her know she was safe from harm in his embrace. "How…how did you get out of there?"

"I had no idea how to escape from…anything at that point. I soon found out that I was being held by the Imperials. The man who had attacked me had dragged me back to them…told them that I had stolen from him and attempted to kill him when he confronted me. I was…dumbfounded. I didn't know what to tell them. They wouldn't have believed me anyway. He came back repeatedly. They'd let him into the cell with me and he would _taunt_ me. He told me that a girl like me should always walk around with two black eyes and while I was locked in there, he made sure I had them." She shook her head sadly. "They kept me in there for over a fortnight. I barely ate. I became ill. Eventually I think they just found me to be more trouble than I was worth."

"So after holding you with no cause for over two weeks, they just…let you go?" he asked, incredulous to the events.

"Yes."

His fingers gently traced up and down her spine, sending a shiver through her. "I…I'm so sorry that you had to go through that, Marieka. No man has the right to do what they did…what _he_ did to you."

She shrugged. "I've heard stories about events that were far worse," she said, thinking back to the tale Sapphire had told her mere days prior. "Although, I suppose that night…those weeks…had a very significant influence on me from then on."

"Oh? How so?"

"It's strange," she began. "I can trace back so many decisions I've made in my life back to that time. I learned quickly to defend myself with a blade. I always carry a dagger now."

"A wise decision, when one knows how to use it."

"I also learned how to pick locks then," she said. "I'm sure you can understand why."

"Absolutely," he said. "And now I can't even be bothered to lock anything around you, lass." He pulled her hand up to his face, kissing her fingers.

She smiled at him. "There's another thing I was influenced to do. And it's one I know you're interested in. Most people wonder about it, actually. But usually don't have the nerve to ask about."

He looked at her for a moment with curious eyes. As he surveyed her face, he knew she could be talking about only one thing.

"The markings on your face," he said.

She nodded. "What he said…that a girl like me should always walk around with two black eyes. I thought he was right."

"Now, wait a minute, Marieka," Brynjolf interrupted. "You believed him?"

"Not the way you're thinking," she replied. "But by getting these marks, I owned them. No one could ever see if I was bruised. No one could do what he did to me and _know_ that it hurt me. I'd have marked my whole face if I could have."

He stroked her face, letting his fingertips linger on the markings on her chin. "I've never seen anything like them, lass. But even without them, you're more unique than anyone I've ever known."

"You know, it's funny," she said. "At first with them, I thought I was hiding from others. But as I've learned to fight for myself…as I've learned to defend myself, these markings have become…almost…" She paused – uncertain how to explain herself. "It's what those who have tried to best me will remember."

"Something to think of as they take their last breath then," he said knowingly. "I suppose it's something we all want our foes to remember. Who gave them death, if it comes down to that."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I never used to have so much hatred inside of me. I wish you knew me when I was a better person."

"Marieka," he began, "I know you when you are at your best. I know you now. And who you are is who I love. Don't ever forget that."

She smiled at him, but had one more thing to tell him. "I decided I had to leave my home in Wayrest. My mother was dead by then…from the sickness. My father…he…didn't care. When they let me go, he told me they should have kept me longer to teach me a lesson for stealing. _He_ didn't even believe the truth of what happened. That whole thing…_made_ me who I am. Made me realize that I couldn't depend on anyone else. That if I was going to survive this…life…that I was the only one who would do it for me. So I left…wandered the country, trying to figure out what I was going to do. I haven't had a place to call home for such a long time. Now, so many years later…after even my attempts to just simply go to the College to _learn_ about magic…I'm still wandering."

He looked at the despondency in her eyes. Her survival instincts had caused her to run for so long – she _needed_ a home. She needed a place that made her feel safe. Wanted.

As he pulled her closer, her head nestled into the crook of his neck. He held her, and began to whisper into her ear.

"You don't have to wander anymore, Marieka," he said. "Come home to me. Stay here with me."

She felt his strong arms around her and shuddered at his comforting embrace.

"Depend on me."


	24. Ulfric Stormcloak

**Yay! Managed to get this one written before and after my big Superbowl bash. Also, yay Giants! ;)**

**So, I've just started the Civil War quest line in recent days. I'm enjoying it so far, and while I'm interested in pursuing the Imperial side of things eventually, I have a feeling that the Rebel Alliance…er…I mean, the Stormcloaks will always hold a special place in my heart.**

**I love being the underdog. Rebels suit me. **

* * *

><p><em><strong>Ulfric Stormcloak<strong>_

He knew this woman standing before him. He remembered her from…_somewhere_.

But he could not place it. He would be forced to ask her why she appeared to be so familiar to him, though considered that doing so might give off the appearance of too much interest in her presence. No, he would have to bide his time. Perhaps she'd not be around long enough to worry about. If she was in Windhelm longer than a day…or for another conversation…perhaps then he would ask her why he knew her face.

For now though, his current lack of knowledge would have to suffice.

She looked up at him expectantly. He hadn't been paying attention. She had been speaking, but his thoughts drifted while she did.

"Pardon my inability to pay attention, Breton," he said. "As you can well imagine, the impending war has my thoughts elsewhere at the moment."

"Of course, Jarl Stormcloak," she replied politely. "If you prefer me to return at another time…"

"No," he interrupted. "No, that'll not be necessary. Repeat your request once more. I shall devote my attention to you this time."

She nodded respectfully. "I am here seeking your steward, Jorleif. I was told he is away from the Palace on business…to return tomorrow. However the matter I require him for is of the utmost importance, my Jarl. I'm afraid it cannot wait."

"And just what do you consider to be so important that you interrupt the daily goings on of a Jarl?"

He watched her carefully as she considered her words. Most would have been grovelling on their knees for his forgiveness at the sound of such words. Interesting that she still stood on her feet…and was about to actually answer his question, rather than backtrack to a more comfortable position.

"There are rumours of murder within the walls of your city, Jarl Stormcloak," she replied. "I would have considered that to have been enough to warrant your care. Or at the very least, your attention."

"I could consider that remark to be insolent, girl," he said.

"I mean no disrespect," she quickly countered.

"And none has been taken," he replied. "I simply wished to point out how a lesser man could have interpreted your words."

"I understand," she said, appearing slightly annoyed with the wordplay taking place.

"I am aware of what has been going on within my city's walls. And you have my attention," he said. "What is it that you need from me?"

"Your permission," she began, "to assist the city guard in their investigation."

"Do you think them incompetent?" he asked. "You come to my city with the thought that I do not know how to run it? That my guards are useless?"

"Of course not," she responded, stepping forward towards him. "They are overtaxed protecting this great city, Jarl Stormcloak. I merely wish to assist with the investigation for…a more personal reason."

"And what is that?"

"That," she said, "is personal."

"I see," he replied. Refusing to answer questions was not always on his list of ways to win him over, but he was quickly beginning to appreciate her candor. She refused to pull any punches; even against a man of his stature. He couldn't see it to deny her request. "Very well. You shall have my consent to assist in this investigation."

"Thank you," she replied, bowing slightly at him. She made to turn away from him.

"What makes you so concerned about these murders?" he asked. "You are not a resident of Windhelm. You are not even a Nord. These women are not your concern. Why are you so interested?"

"They deserve justice," she replied, turning back to face him. "If their murderer is not found, that is something they'll never have. And how many others will be killed before the guards can even devote the proper attention that is required? I offer my assistance because I cannot ignore this."

"I trust you will keep me apprised of what your investigation discloses," he said. It wasn't a suggestion; it was a requirement.

"Of course, my Jarl," she replied. "May I go?"

"Once you tell me your name, Breton," he said. "Lest I continue to refer to you as such."

"My name is Marieka," she replied.

"I'll remember that name," he said quickly.

"I don't doubt it," she said, before turning and heading towards the main doors of the Palace.

He raised an eyebrow at her comment, glancing over at his second, Galmar Stone-Fist. The warrior stood with his arms crossed, watching the girl leave with his interest piqued. Neither of the men were certain what to make of the seemingly impudent Breton.

When she was out of earshot, Ulfric summoned Galmar to his side.

"Keep an eye on that one," he directed. "I have a feeling she might be more useful as an ally than an enemy."

"Tiny thing like that?" Galmar replied. "I wouldn't pay her much mind."

"Exactly why her presence here worries me," Ulfric said. "Because _no one_ would pay her any mind."

The Jarl adjusted himself on his throne, peering in her direction as she exited the hall. He suspected that there was much more to the girl than she let on – and hoped that he would be able to use that to his advantage.

* * *

><p>"My Jarl," Jorleif called out as he entered the hall of the throne of the Palace of the Kings. "I must speak with you regarding the court wizard."<p>

"Wuunferth?" Ulfric replied. "What's he done now?"

"The Breton that you gave permission to investigate the murders in the city has accused him of being responsible for them," the steward said. "What say you?"

"Where is the girl?" the Jarl said. "I would have her before me to explain her accusation."

"Of course," Jorleif replied, leaving to fetch her.

Ulfric rested his elbow on the arm of his throne, scratching at his hair. His uncertainty over the war efforts was consuming him. Every day he received new reports of Imperial attacks on Stormcloak camps…of prisoners being taken…of more death and oppression by the Imperial swine. His men were becoming disenchanted, something that any leader feared more than even death itself. He couldn't afford to lose more men to disappointment than to their enemy's blade. The war was meant to rage on the battlefield, not within the unmotivated minds of his own men. Something had to give…and it had to give soon, or he'd no longer have a force with which to even rebel.

And now this Breton was back to accuse a man in his own court of murder.

He sighed…frustrated. At this point, having to replace his court wizard would just be another headache in a long line of them. Still, he'd hear her out – if she had good enough reason, he would act upon her advice. Being a proud Nord, he wasn't used to taking advice from an outsider; yet this girl's intentions seemed genuine enough.

He watched as Jorleif re-entered the hall, followed closely be the Breton. She strode behind him, confident, yet doubling her steps every so often in order to keep up to the taller man ahead of her. She wore the robes of the mages at the College and they loosely clung to her small frame, giving her the appearance of an overwhelmed, harmless insect, ready to be stomped underfoot. When Jorleif reached the foot of the throne, he nodded to Ulfric before stepping to stand at the Jarl's side, opposite Galmar.

He straightened up in his seat, looking down upon the woman in front of him.

"Marieka," he greeted her with a slight nod.

She returned the greeting with a nod of her own and waited for him to continue.

"I hear you accuse my court wizard in your investigation," he said. "What makes you suspect him?"

She reached into the pocket of her robes and pulled out a small amulet on a chain. She held it up for them to see. "I found this at Hjerim. It was hidden within a secret room – along with some…_disturbing_ evidence."

"Disturbing, you say?" Ulfric repeated. "What sort of evidence?"

"Bones…body parts…plenty of blood…"

Her face contorted from the thought of what she had seen. Though it did not appear to him as if this was her first time seeing such things.

"So you suspect Wuunferth for what reason?" he asked.

"I confirmed that the amulet belonged to him," she replied.

"And the amulet could not have been simply stolen and planted?" he asked.

"I had thought that as well, my Jarl," she explained. "Yet, there are the rumours of necromancy."

"Ah," he replied. "These are troubling accusations, you understand."

"I do. Though more than one individual has accused the man of such," she said bluntly. "I certainly do not wish the man death, but perhaps he should be questioned."

"Very well," Ulfric agreed. "Jorleif, arrange with the guards to have Wuunferth placed in the hold until such a time as he can be questioned regarding his involvement in these murders. And take possession of this amulet as well. I should like you to study it – see what you can find out about it. We may need to bring in another mage to assist in Wuunferth's absence."

Jorleif nodded and approached Marieka to take the amulet from her. When she handed him the amulet, she looked back to Ulfric, and Jorleif continued on his way.

"Should you require me no further, I'll—"

"Why must you always attempt to flee from my presence, Breton?" he asked.

"My Jarl," she began. "I do not mean for it to appear that way. I'm honoured to be in your presence. But have I not taken up enough of your time?"

"No more than anyone else," he replied, waving off her concern. "But you also do not annoy me."

Her lips turned up at the corners slightly, pleased at the impression she had made upon the man. She avoided eye contact with him, glancing briefly at Galmar before lowering her eyes to the ground. The Jarl's second stood devoid of emotion, simply at the ready to defend his Jarl from any threat.

"I…I am contented to hear that," she said quietly.

"I recognize your face, Marieka," he replied. "There has been a time we encountered one another before, but I cannot recall it. Do you know when this would have happened?"

"Yes, Jarl Stormcloak," she said, "I—."

"You may address me as Ulfric, should you wish it," he interrupted.

She nodded at him before continuing. "We shared the same carriage and were to have shared the same fate. Beheading at Helgen."

"At Helgen, you say?" he replied, somewhat surprised. He contemplated back to the events that led him to the settlement. He had been camped at the Skyrim-Cyrodiil border, with several of his men. They had been ambushed by Imperials…by General Tullius himself, and they held the men for several days before setting off for Helgen. They had bound and gagged Ulfric, fearful of his rumoured use of the Voice to kill the High King of Skyrim months prior.

As the wagons were slowly pulled through the southern forests of the country, the Imperials apprehended several other troublemakers along the way: a horse thief, two other Stormcloak rebels, and this girl…Marieka. What her crime was, few could tell, but the Imperials seemed to consider her a threat. It was laughable at best.

She rarely spoke during the long journey to the settlement. Ulfric barely lifted his eyes to meet those of others, but he had looked towards the front of the wagon at one point along their journey to see if they were any closer to their ultimate destination, and their eyes met. She was terrified; certainly not the same woman who appeared before him this day. In her eyes, there was fear, lack of comprehension, confusion and…pity. She truly had no idea what she was headed for – though Ulfric knew. Their heads would have all been on pikes by the end of that day had it not have been for the dragon's attack.

She hadn't spoken; merely waited for his thoughts to catch up to the present again.

"Yes," he continued. "I remember you now. Not all that escaped that day yet live. It is good to find another survivor of that event who does."

She nodded. "I did not know who you were at the time. Though, now that I do know, I consider it a fortunate thing for your people that you also survived."

He raised an eyebrow. "What do you know of the politics of Skyrim?"

"I know that the Empire oversteps their bounds and has remained unchecked for far too long," she replied immediately, as if she had been expecting the question. Ulfric looked over at Galmar, who had allowed a smirk to cover his face.

"You take issue with the Imperials then," he said. "That is an interesting development."

"I have my reasons," she said.

"Are your reasons enough that you would shed blood alongside us?" The question was worth asking. The Stormcloak rebellion was not so strong that it would deny help from those who were not of Nord blood.

She pondered the question for a few moments; then slowly began to nod.

"I believe that they are," she replied.

"Now, just a moment Ulfric," Galmar interrupted. "Are you quite certain this _girl_ has anything to offer us?"

She shot a look at the large man that would have sent ice into anyone's veins.

"Do you wish her to prove herself to you, Galmar?" he asked. "Perhaps a test of worth?"

"I think it would be best," the man replied. "Following the trail of a murderer is one thing; battle worthiness is something altogether different."

"Very well," Ulfric agreed. He looked back at Marieka who stood, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

"What would you have me do to prove my worth?" she asked, a trace of spite hidden behind her words.

Ulfric looked towards Galmar, who stepped forward. His imposing frame would have towered over her, even if he hadn't been standing several steps above her already. He rested his hand menacingly upon his giant war axe; highly polished save for the blood stains – evidence of much use against so many felled enemies.

"To the northeast of the College at Winterhold there is a stone…the Serpent Stone. It can be found among one of the many islands within the frozen wastes in that area. At this stone, there is an ice wraith that has haunted the ruins for many years," Galmar explained. "Return to me with the teeth of the wraith, and you shall have my respect."

"An ice wraith?" she asked, her face contorting. "I've encountered an ice wraith before. What is so special about this one?"

"Do you balk at this request?" Ulfric asked.

"No, I…" she stuttered, shaking her head quickly. "No, of course not."

"Then will you seek out this wraith to prove your worth?"

"Yes," she said, "I will."

"Very good," he replied. "Then be off. The Stormcloaks wait for no one."

She nodded and hurried off. Ulfric swore that he could hear her mumbling to herself as she went.

When she had finally left the Palace, Galmar turned to him. "I suspect that is the last we shall see of the Breton."

"I disagree," Ulfric countered. "I think that she will return."

"The journey to the Serpent Stone is perilous. Look at the number of men we have sent to the area who have returned, refusing to carry on for the severity of the elements alone," Galmar pointed out. "How do you even think someone like her will make it back alive, let alone with the teeth of the wraith?"

Ulfric paused for a moment, staring straight ahead and considering his words. She barely looked as though she could wield a butter knife, let alone a blade of any substance. Yet something in her past experience was driving her; something had happened to her that would prompt her to want to fight against the tyranny of the Empire. And he suspected he would see that come out in her very soon.

He looked back at Galmar. "Because now she has something to prove."


	25. Onmund IV

**Thanks to everyone for the continued kind words and challenges that you task me with after every chapter. So glad folks are still reading along. As always, if you haven't seen a character yet that you think I should consider having Marieka bump into in her journeys criss-crossing Skyrim, feel free to make the suggestion. For those of you who are wondering, I do have things planned for the Dark Brotherhood and Daedra…so keep tuning in for more.**

**Oh, and one more thing. Curtisimo…since you called me out for my decision to join the Stormcloaks (and I'm not 100% sure if you're serious or otherwise)…I have three words for you…bring it, Imperial!**

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><p><em><strong>Onmund IV<strong>_

_I wear this crown of thorns upon my liar's chair  
>Full of broken thoughts I cannot repair<br>Beneath the stains of time, the feelings disappear  
>You are someone else, I am still right here<em>

_And you could have it all…my empire of dirt  
>I will let you down…I will make you hurt<br>If I could start again…a million miles away  
>I will keep myself, I would find a way<em>

'_Hurt', Nine Inch Nails (Reznor)_

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><p>Minding one's own business at the College of Winterhold was actually quite an easy thing to do. These academic types that frequented the grounds often had their head in a book…or a head up their arse. Either way, most of the mages were happier when they were left to their own devices; to study and research…to practice and learn.<p>

It was no different for Onmund. The tumultuous events of his recent past drove him to this place; he sought out the solitude that the building offered. It was rare when an outsider bothered to even look towards the College, let alone drop in for tea. It was the perfect place to remember what his life was worth living for. It was the perfect place to forget what his life had become.

During the long journey that brought him to this place, he felt lost…like his life was floundering. And perhaps for some moments, it was. It was difficult to say goodbye to Marieka – even if their life together had been brief. She was the first person to truly understand him. To _support_ him and his endeavours. In a place where people would rather spit on you than look at you, support and understanding were often the things that mattered most to someone like Onmund. He had none of that from his family. Never expected to.

When he arrived at the College once again, few were surprised to see him. Some of the senior mages were rude about it. The 'I told you so's' and the 'these things never work out's' were never easy to hear. Yet support did exist…came from some unexpected places. Namely, the former apprentices he remembered beginning his tenure at the College with.

The crazy Khajiit, J'zargo, was surprisingly a good friend to Onmund upon his return. Often it was simply the fact that he could just help to take his mind off of things with some of his stranger ideas. The two engaged in philosophical conversations about all things magic, and often J'zargo challenged Onmund to learn quicker…become more talented with the magic he knew and understood. But there'd be no further testing of the Khajiit's scrolls – no, Marieka had done enough of that in the past, causing untold injury to herself and any of those within arm's reach of her.

But even more unexpected than J'zargo, was the way Brelyna had taken to him. The Dunmer had always been friendly to both he and Marieka, but upon news of their marriage, began to avoid them both. When he returned, she pulled him aside with plenty of questions for the man. She wanted to know what had happened…why they were no longer together…whether or not Marieka would be returning. Onmund initially thought her interest odd, but again – it took his mind off of things for a time. He welcomed the interruptions.

Settling back into the everyday life of the College was easy…comfortable even. While he and Marieka had amassed a good collection of books in their own home at Whiterun, there was something to be said for the collection at the Arcanaeum. Urag gro-Shub sure had taken fine care of the assortment of books, tomes and texts there, warning off newly apprenticed mages from even touching some of them. The orc kept many of the books under lock and key – and his watchful eye – but he quickly began to trust Onmund and his desire to learn.

The mage could spend hours upon hours searching through the shelves for new texts. His hunger for knowledge had grown by leaps and bounds since returning to the College; as if a new part of him was awakened. He was pleased at his new ambitions and continued to feed himself book after book. The other mages began to tease him about the fact that he was rarely ever in his room, and could they borrow his bed some night? He never minded the joking – besides…they seemed to respect how his comprehension of the arcane had developed since he returned.

If he dared to say it, things were starting to settle down nicely for him.

At least it was…until the day he managed to find himself face to face with the woman he once shared his bed with.

He had never worried about walking the landing that joined the entrance to the Arch-Mage quarters and the Arcanaeum before. She was never around. He simply went about his daily business without a care. But this day, things were different. And he had a feeling that something was coming. Something hadn't been sitting right with him all day, but he couldn't place why. When he came out of the library with a stack of tomes in his arms though – piled high enough for him to have to peer around, rather than over – he ostensibly discovered the reason behind his uneasiness that day. Or at least, if he believed in that sort of intuition, he could have said for sure.

While he carried his pile of books, he headed for the stairs towards the Hall of the Elements and ran directly into her. Marieka had shown up to the College grounds…doing gods know what. She didn't appear to be as shocked as he was at the sight of the other. Of course, she once again had the upper hand where knowledge was concerned – knowing that Onmund would be there, where he had no idea when she'd be returning. His reaction was quite evident – he was not impressed to see her.

"Oh," she exclaimed. "Hello Onmund." They both knelt down on the ground to begin retrieving the pile of books that he'd dropped in the collision.

He breathed out gruffly. "Marieka. Didn't expect to see you here today. Course, we don't expect to see the Arch-Mage here most days."

After a deep breath to prevent herself from saying something she'd regret, she sighed. "Contrary to what you think, I'm not here to cause trouble for you. _Or_ to check up on you."

"Then what _are_ you here for?" he asked bluntly.

She watched as he attempted to lift the entire pile again, before reaching out and grabbing several of the books from the top of it. "Let me help you with this."

"I've got it, Marieka," he growled at her. "By the nine, I—fine." Resignation was hinted at in his voice.

"Where are you headed?" she asked. "I'll help you bring these there, and then…I'll leave you alone."

Her face had fallen…he hadn't seen a bit of a smile since she returned. Guilt suddenly flooded his mind, thinking back to the night they fought. The night that their love was all but extinguished before them.

He sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you."

She said nothing, merely looked down at the books in her hands.

"I would appreciate your help," he added. "I'm heading to my room in the Hall of Countenance."

"They have given you new quarters then," she replied, hinting at a smile. "I had hoped that they would."

"You didn't have anything to do with it then?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No. You've impressed the senior mages enough on your own."

"Hmm," he mused. "I suppose that's something then, isn't it?"

With books in hand, he led her downstairs and out into the courtyard, where they walked towards his quarters in the blinding snow.

"I never did get used to this," she said suddenly. "Why would they build such a courtyard…so exposed to the elements?"

"Wimp," he countered.

She glanced at him and caught the proud smirk upon his face. They continued on in silence until they reached the door to the Hall of Countenance, where he held the door open, inviting her to go ahead of him.

"Brr!" she exclaimed when the door was closed. "I can't get over how blustery it can be up here, so high above the water."

"The winds certainly can be quite strong," he replied. "But I suspect you've seen your fair share of interesting weather in your travels." He continued towards his room, opposite the main entrance to the Hall. He placed the pile of books on his desk and motioned for her to do the same. "Right here is fine."

When she had relinquished her pile, she stood and took a look around his small quarters.

He noticed her eyes drifting about. "It's not very big," he said, "but at least it's mine."

"Incredibly close to such a fantastic supply of tomes for you as well," she said.

"I think I enjoy that most of all," he replied. "I had no appreciation for the collection Urag had put together when I first arrived here. I think it took being away to fully realize the work he's put into it."

She nodded in agreement. "Quite extensive."

"So…" he began. "I don't want our relationship to be small talk and nonsense, Marieka. I think we have some issues to sort out still."

"I suppose that you're right." She looked at the chair near his desk that was covered in scrolls and other miscellaneous items.

"Oh. Pardon my mess," he said. "Just…have a seat here." He patted the small bed in the centre of the room.

She looked at him with a bit of apprehension, but lowered herself on to the bed. The last time they both shared a bed was not a pretty sight. The tears and anger didn't ever go away when she thought about it.

He sat as well, closer to the door. He leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows. She thought him far too comfortable for this conversation, but didn't say anything to provoke him.

"How have you been keeping?" he asked.

She looked down and shrugged. "Well enough, I suppose. What about you?"

"I've tried to settle in here again. Things have been going well, I think," he replied. "I assume you're still…with…"

She looked away from him for a moment, then nodded.

"I also assume you've told him of what happened between us," he said quietly. "That I've returned here."

"Yes," she replied.

"And what does he think about that?"

"Onmund, I'm not sure where this line of questioning is going, but I don't think it's truly what you want to talk about," she said.

"You're right," he said after a few moments. "I suppose I'm nervous."

"You shouldn't be," she replied. She finally met his eyes, attempting to give him a reassuring look. One that told him that even after everything, she was still just Marieka.

"I don't…regret things," he said. "I just don't. That's not the kind of person I was raised to be. But…I regret what happened between us."

When she looked at him, but didn't say a word, he was prompted to continue.

"We never should have married, Marieka," he said frankly.

"No?"

He shook his head. "I shouldn't have told you the things I said; that life was uncertain and short, and that we should marry so that we could both be happy. We could have been happier without it. We tied ourselves to each other. To be honest, I don't think it was fair for either of us."

"I'm…a little surprised to hear you say this," she replied.

"I've thought a lot about this," he said. "Gods know the entire journey back here from Whiterun was enough to drive a sane man crazy from his own thoughts. It was all I could think about – did we make a mistake?"

"And you concluded that we did," she replied. Even knowing what she knew, his words still stung.

"I don't regret the love, Mar," he said. She flinched at the sound of his nickname for her…one she hadn't heard since the beginning. "I just regret what we did to it. We tried to force ourselves to fit into some mold that we weren't meant to fit into."

She sat next to him, watching his face as he considered his words. His eyes darted frequently, uncertain of whether to look at her or not throughout the course of the conversation.

"I miss you, Onmund," she blurted out. "I miss being with you on the road. And our friendship. I miss that more than I could ever tell you."

"We had some good times out there, didn't we?" A wistful smile fell across his lips, as he sat up and turned to face her. "Remember the first time we encountered one of those frost trolls?"

A wide smile appeared on her face suddenly. "Oh my," she replied. "I'd almost forgotten that. I _still_ can't believe that you thought it was a snow hare from that distance."

"I thought it was closer than it was," he replied, smirking. "And when it finally got up to where we were…well…yeah, I admit. That was pretty dumb."

"I kind of miss your cooking too," she said. "Just a little bit."

"I am pretty good in the kitchen, aren't I?"

"Now, now. Let's not get all bigheaded about it," she said.

They both looked down at her leg, where his hand had landed instinctively.

He immediately pulled his hand back from where it lay. "I…I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't mean…"

She looked up at him and put her hand over his on the bed. "It's…okay," she replied. Their eyes locked for several moments; peace finally settling in between them. "Onmund?"

"Yes?"

"I need to do something," she said. "And I'm not sure if you'll react poorly to it."

"What do you need to do?" he asked.

She moved closer to him on the bed, reaching her arms for him and pulling him towards her. He felt her arms snake around his back as she embraced him closely. Somewhat surprised by her touch, it took him a few moments, but he ultimately reciprocated.

"I just want to be your friend again," she whispered into his ear.

He breathed deeply, feeling warm in her arms. He responded to her words by squeezing her tightly and remaining that way for countless moments. It was the first time in weeks, perhaps even months, that he felt…content. He knew he had made the right decision and the fact that he could embrace her like this was a testament to that. He no longer hated her. He accepted what had become of the two of them and felt like he could actually move on with his life – with or without her. He would be happy to be her friend, but if that couldn't be, he would accept it as well.

She pulled from him and he saw her eyes immediately go to the doorway. He turned around to see Brelyna peering around the corner. As their eyes met, he saw something in them. Something he wasn't certain of, but she stepped into the door and looked over at Marieka.

"It's been some time, Marieka," she said, coldness in her voice.

"That it has," she replied. "How are you, Brelyna?"

"Fine, Arch-Mage." The elf looked back towards Onmund. "I guess I'll stop by later. Since you're _busy_." She spun around abruptly and stomped off without acknowledging Marieka any further.

When the two could no longer hear her footfalls, Marieka looked back at him oddly.

"What exactly did you tell her about…what happened between us?" she asked.

"Nothing really," he replied. "She knows we're no longer together. That we decided to end our marriage."

"Then what exactly was it that I just saw there?"

"I don't know," he said. "Perhaps she's angry with you?"

"Oh, there was anger there," she said, "but that wasn't the only thing."

She looked at him curiously. He had a look of uncertainty upon his face.

"What do you mean? What did you see?" he asked.

She narrowed her eyes at him momentarily. "Jealousy. Has something been…happening between you two?"

"No, there's been nothing—." He paused suddenly. His thoughts raced back to all of the times that he'd spoken with her since her return. He considered the words she said to him…the way she looked at him…how she playfully… "What?" Understanding dawned on his face. "You don't think…"

Marieka smiled and let out a laugh. "What I think is that you probably need to go after her."

He looked at her warily. "I don't think I should be getting myself into anything like this."

"What do you think of her? Have you ever considered her…in that way?"

"Well…yes," he replied. "She's a good friend. And I do find her to be…oh, Marieka, you don't want to hear about this."

"Nonsense," she replied. "Everyone deserves the right person to make them happy. What if she's the right person?"

"What if she's not?"

"Onmund, don't be so afraid to take a chance to find out," she advised. "I don't think Lydia was who you were looking for either. But that's no reason to stop looking. You deserve a companion. Someone to make you happy. I couldn't give you that happiness. But what if Brelyna can? Do you really want to ignore that just because you're afraid?"

"Do you really think—?"

"Yes," she interrupted. "I really think you should."

"You always did give me good advice," he said with a shrug. "What are you going to do?"

"I can't stay," she replied, "if that's what you're asking. I'll speak to Tolfdir…see if he's any closer to finding a new Arch-Mage for the College. And then I must head to Windhelm."

"Windhelm? What's in Windhelm for you?" he asked. "Or, wait. You know what? I actually don't want to know."

She smiled at him. "Thank you, Onmund."

"For what?"

"For letting it go," she said.

He reached out and squeezed her hand. "I'm more mature than you think, Marieka."

"I know you are," she replied. "Now go and find that poor girl. Before she thinks that we're…you know… and she suffers needlessly."

He smiled at her. "Travel safe."

He stood and left her behind in his room. As he hurried off to find the Dunmer who had stormed off some time before, he started to consider the help she offered. He wondered why it took the two of them not to be together before she was able to offer him advice…good sound advice…again. It was all he had wanted when they were together, but nothing she could give.

Was it worth living with regret? The pain of a broken friendship, despite the healing?

_No. No more regrets. No more pain._

This new life would be worth living. He would see to it.


	26. Erandur

**It should be made known that I am a big fan of Metallica. Wait. Let me rephrase that. I **_**was**_** a big fan of Metallica. Lightning, Puppets and Justice are some of the best metal albums ever written. That being said, their newer work is…uninspired.**

**Regardless, when you take two of my favourite things…Metallica and the Cthulhu mythos…life is good. When I add Skyrim to the mix? Phew. I'm in heaven, friends. I think the Daedra and Cthulhu (along with Nyarlathotep, Sub-Niggurath, Yog-Sothoth, **_**et al.**_**) would have had grand times together, causing chaos amongst the mortals. Or they would have caused a ferocious war. Either way…good times. God, I love HP Lovecraft.**

**This chapter turned out far longer than I expected it would. If you haven't completed the quest "Waking Nightmare", you might want to hold off on reading this. I suggest you jump into Skyrim this very moment…head to Dawnstar and get your arse to the Inn to start this quest! It's kinda fun actually. AND it'll allow me to not spoilerize the whole thing for you. Or you can just suck it up, deal with the spoilers like I always do, and hopefully enjoy this part of the story anyhow. ;) It's been some time since I completed this quest, so I hope I have the details right at least!**

**Okay…Curtisimo…I see your Last Resort…and raise you…uh…Oblivion Atom Bomb. Yeah. Take it. Also, I've no doubt that you made the shot, man. No doubt whatsoever. Truce? ;)**

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><p><em><strong>Erandur<strong>_

_Crawling chaos, underground  
>Cult has summoned, twisted sound<br>Out from ruins once possessed  
>Fallen city, living death<em>

"_The Thing that Should Not Be", Metallica (__Hetfield, Ulrich, Hammett__)_

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><p>"They won't stop Erandur. You <em>must <em>help us!"

The Dunmer priest sighed loudly. As he looked from face to face, the citizens of Dawnstar pleaded and begged for him to assist them. Their eyes spoke to him…pained and plagued from the sleep that was never restful. Some fell asleep, cursed by terrifying nightmares; a madness that would not cease. Others simply would not awaken from their wicked slumber.

But he hadn't yet found the one who could help him cleanse the city of its affliction. Visitors so rarely came to Dawnstar and those already there would never be able to help. They'd only be driven further down the road to lunacy.

_Vaermina. She has them all in her grasp. And she will never let go…_

He placated the group who had gathered around him with soothing promises to solve the problem, despite knowing that he likely wouldn't before they all succumbed to their madness. As they dispersed, he settled back on to the bench where he hoped to finish eating the meal that they had all interrupted. Though he quickly realized he had lost his appetite anyway. His head fell into his hand, frustrated that he could do nothing but watch the city's quiet descent.

When the door to the Windpeak Inn opened, the winds and snows of a raging blizzard were accompanied by a young woman, shivering and windswept; Erandur found his eyes drawn to the sight. It seemed to take all her strength to close the door behind her against the might of the wind. When it had closed, she leaned her back against it, breathing heavily. There was snow caked to her boots up to her thighs, and even the hood that she pulled back from her head needed to be shaken out to rid it of the accumulated flakes.

Leaving a pile of snow to melt behind her, she headed towards the counter of the inn where Thoring stood, visibly excited at the prospect of a customer.

"Welcome traveler," he said to the woman when she stood before him.

"Where in Oblivion am I?" she asked.

"You stand in the Windpeak Inn," he replied proudly.

"I…yes, I saw the sign," she said. "City. What _city_ am I in?"

"You are in the proud city of Dawnstar," he began. "Of the Pale. We are known—"

"Dawnstar!" she interrupted, incredulous at the development. She pulled a folded parchment from the pack she had been carrying and stretched it out on the counter. Erandur saw her scanning the parchment – a map – and pointing along the top of it. "I'm in Dawnstar? By the nine, this bloody blizzard! I thought I was heading _south_ this whole time!"

"Oh," he said. "Well, we still have a warm bed for you for the night. And good food. Cold mead as well."

"Yes," she replied. "I'm sorry. I just can't believe I've gotten myself so turned around. By the gods, I'm halfway to Solitude already!"

"Would you like a room?"

She nodded, digging into a coin purse for the required gold. She handed him the septims and he passed her a key, pointing out where the room was located. When she turned around, she glanced around the main hall of the inn, her eyes flitting about, not truly meeting with those of any others. Some of the city folk eyed her nervously, wondering whether this visitor was a harbinger of more misfortune to come. But one did not.

Erandur saw her as conceivably the outsider that he could obtain the assistance he needed from. Perhaps his promises to those who begged his help earlier would not be so empty after all.

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><p>When he returned to the inn from his customary travels through the city to check on those under the influence of the unending nightmares, Erandur noticed that the tables were empty. He wondered if the young traveler was still at the inn…hoped he would be able to speak with her regarding his concerns. And his hope did not go unanswered for long, for just as he sat down with some dinner, one of the room's doors creaked open revealing the young woman in question.<p>

Her clothing was more casual than the light armour she wore as she entered the inn that afternoon, but she still looked disheveled. As if she hadn't rested for any amount of time since she arrived. She approached the counter and inquired about food. Thoring obliged her request and sent her off with a bowl of stew to fill her belly. Erandur turned away from her as she made her way from the counter, not wanting to cause her concern over how he observed her.

As he took another bite of the stewed beef in front of him, he heard padded steps approaching him.

"Pardon me. I've been locked away in my room all afternoon by myself. Any chance you might like some company?"

He looked over at the woman standing there and smiled. "Of course. Have a seat."

She sat on the bench next to him, placing her food in front of her. She immediately stuck her hand out towards Erandur. "I'm Marieka."

He looked at her hand oddly, but shook it anyhow. It was not a common greeting in the Pale, but perhaps somewhere else she had been, people shook hands like this to greet each other.

"I am Erandur," he replied. "It is good to see new faces around here."

"I'm afraid I'm merely passing through," she replied. "I was on my way to Windhelm from Winterhold. As you can imagine, the blizzard took me quite a bit out of my way to place me in this city."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "That is a bit of a detour."

"Normally, I'm quite good at finding my way around. Even in storms…but…" Her voice trailed off as she took a sip of mead. "Anyway, enough about my disastrous journey. You're a priest of Mara, aren't you?"

He nodded.

"I can tell by the robes," she said. "I did some work for another priest back in Riften. Nice fellow. Can't for the life of me remember his name though."

"I don't know many of the other priests throughout Skyrim. I've mostly remained here in the city," he replied. "Dawnstar can be a lonely place without the warmth of our Lady."

"Tell me about it," she snorted.

He watched her eat for a few moments. She was a little uncouth as she wolfed down the meal. Perhaps she hadn't eaten in awhile though – there was always that.

"So, you're from Winterhold then? The College?" he asked.

"Sort of," she replied. "I've been a member of the College, but I'm not from there."

"Where do you call home?"

"Hmm," she pondered. "I suppose Riften would be home now. Though I travel quite frequently. But I do manage to find my way back there no matter where I go." She smiled into her stew, leaving out the details and reasons for her expression.

"Do you often…run into trouble?" He bit the inside of his mouth, hoping that she would understand what he was getting at without running away for fear of what he suggested.

She stopped eating and looked at him. "Just what kind of trouble are you talking about?"

He sighed. "Never mind. I shouldn't have—"

"Yes, actually," she interrupted. "I find myself in trouble on a daily basis. Do you have troubles that you need assistance with?" She sounded so nonchalant…so indifferent to the question that she asked. To Erandur, it sounded as though she was accustomed to dealing with the concerns of others.

"I suspect that when you sleep, you are not troubled by thoughts of never waking up. Nor are you plagued by terrifying nightmares," he suggested.

"There are those nights," she replied, "yet they are few and far between." She looked at him through curious eyes.

"Unfortunately, the people of this quiet city _are_ susceptible to such things. So much so, that many of them fear closing their eyes at all, lest they remain that way until they die from the horrors that curse their minds," he explained.

Her eyes widened. "They are trapped by…nightmares?"

He nodded.

"That doesn't make any sense," she said. "Why would they not just wake up?"

"They cannot," he replied. "They are held there. And those that do come out from their slumber are trapped in a waking nightmare. Visions…horrible, terrible visions of death and despair. Some have been driven mad with grief and fear. Some have ended their own lives. Or the lives of others. This city is destroying itself, Marieka."

"What…what can I do?" she asked.

"Well, you can leave," he said. "You can leave and get as far away from this place as you can – never returning. Never speaking of it." He took a deep breath before continuing. "Or…you can stay and help me. I need someone to accompany me to the nearby temple to attempt to stop this madness."

"Temple? I know of no temples that do not worship…someone," she said. "Just who does this temple offer itself up to?"

"Vaermina," he replied. "Do you know of her?"

"Vaguely," she said.

"She is the Daedric Prince of dreams and nightmares," he explained. "She is a terrifying being, known to trap mortals in her grasp simply for the pleasure of terrorizing and tormenting them until their last breath. And it would seem that she has her gaze cast upon Dawnstar."

"What do you need of me?"

"If you truly wish to help, you will meet me at the temple. It lies to the east of here, up the slopes. Be there this night at midnight and we will proceed," he instructed.

"I don't know how I get myself involved in such things," she sighed.

"Trust me, dear girl," he said, "if you are able to help, the people of Dawnstar will be forever grateful for your involvement."

The two proceeded to finish off their meals in silence. When his dish was empty, he rose from the bench and nodded at her. He hoped she would not change her mind about offering assistance. It would not be the first time. But rather than think about the possibilities, he needed to prepare himself for the journey. He retired to his room for the next several hours – meditating and reflecting on things long since past…and on the moments to come.

* * *

><p>When Erandur arrived at the Nightcaller Temple's entrance, he was more than a little surprised to find Marieka was already there waiting for him. She must have been there for a while – she had already built a small fire to keep warm.<p>

She also must have noticed the strange look he had given her based on her reaction.

"The skies cleared after the storm. I figured there would be a lovely view of the skies from up here. So I came a bit early," she explained. "Was I ever right!"

She motioned to the skies and when Erandur looked up, he noticed the brilliant lights dancing across the skies. Blues like sapphires and greens like emeralds reached from one horizon to the other. How could a place so gorgeous be a place of so much insanity? He almost didn't wish to leave the night skies behind, but knew that this nightmare would never end if they remained outside of the temple.

"Marieka, we must go if we are to do anything about this menace," he advised. She tossed some snow upon the small fire and got to her feet. Replacing the pack upon her back, she readied herself and nodded at the Dunmer priest.

He led her into the temple and motioned for her to wait for him as he approached the small shrine to Mara that he had created long ago. Kneeling in front of it, he whispered words of prayer to the Lady, asking for her warmth to surround them as they fought against the evils of this temple. He remained in silence for some time before rising and turning to Marieka.

"I am ready," he said.

"Good," she replied. "Now why don't you give me an idea of what we might be facing in here."

He looked around the hall they stood in. "This temple was originally used as a military fort. When the fort fell into ruin, worshippers of the Daedric Prince Vaermina seized it for their own, and it became a temple. And they housed an important artifact for Vaermina in this temple. The Skull of Corruption lies within the Inner Sanctum of this place – the last realm of protection for it."

"The Skull of Corruption?" she repeated. "That doesn't sound like something you'd wear to a fancy party."

"Well, no," he replied. "Unless the party was for Vaermina, I suppose."

She chuckled. "Just trying to keep the mood light, Erandur."

He smiled at her half-heartedly. She can't have known how dangerous this was going to be. Or, perhaps she was just as crazy as she looked.

"The Skull devours dreams. It collects the nightmares of everyone around it for Vaermina. It is incredibly powerful and has already begun its destruction of Dawnstar."

"I see," she replied. "And since she's feeding off of the nightmares, it's killing the people here?"

"Yes," he replied. "We must destroy it."

"Sounds simple enough," she shrugged.

"It would have been," he replied, "had the Orcs not attacked."

She shifted her weight to one leg and cocked her head at him.

"The temple's priests were forced to…defend the Skull against all opposition…and at any cost," he said, a dark tone behind his words. "They released a gas…Miasma."

"What," she asked, "is that?"

"It causes anyone who encounters it to fall into a deep slumber," he replied. "Almost as a bear hibernates."

"That doesn't sound as horrible as you make it seem," she said.

"The problem comes with the length of time one is exposed to the gas," he explained. "The longer one remains asleep because of it, the worse their mind will become – to the point of a complete breakdown of mental capacity. Anyone who was in this temple when the Orcs attacked – the attackers and priests alike – is still sleeping on the other side of that door. Still affected by the Miasma. When I release the barrier that has sealed this gas in for so long, it would not matter if we were friend or foe. They will attack us. They will try to kill us. I hope you are ready for this."

"Temples and crypts…exploring them seems to be a…hobby of mine, Erandur," she said, curving her lips up into a smile. "I think I'm ready."

"Right," he replied. "Then move over there a little," he replied, motioning to the wall away from the temple's entrance. "I'd hate for the Miasma to still have some effect upon us before it disperses."

She complied. When he dissolved the barrier into nothingness, they went through the door, uncertain of what they'd encounter on the other side. They quickly discovered that Erandur was right – there was _nothing_ friendly awaiting them. Priests of Vaermina and Orc invaders alike attacked them the second they knew they were there. However, they also attacked each other, making it a bit easier to proceed through the ruined temple.

Fires still burned. _How_ fires still burned, Erandur couldn't tell, but the stench of burnt and rotting corpses mingled with the acrid scent of the dissipating Miasma. He could hear Marieka cough every so often, gagging at the smell. She apologized several times for having to stop; blaming her weak stomach for the retching. At one point, the odour was so strong, it caused her to vomit, leaving him to defend himself against the two Orcs that suddenly appeared from around a corner. She recovered as quickly as she could, and came to his aid, slashing at the zombie-like creatures wildly.

It was ever apparent that she'd never received formal training in wielding a blade. Her methods were crude, but tended to get the job done more often than not. In close quarters, he worried that she'd accidentally hit him with her weapon, but she managed to avoid him the entire time. When she used her arcane talents though, she was menacing. Her spells were powerful and her accuracy was leaps and bounds better than with the blade. He wondered as he watched her why she bothered with the sword at all, but knew just how easy it was to wear one's own resources out. It was always good to have a backup.

Regardless of what she used to fight though, Erandur was pleased he chose to bring her along. She never fled…she never balked…she wasn't afraid to get a little blood on her hands. And perhaps she would be able to do what he believed she would have to in order to help destroy this menace. He was about to find out, as the corridor ended abruptly at an ethereal barrier preventing anyone from passing.

"So it's a dead end then?" she asked. "After all this, you're telling me that we can't get by?"

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "But there is only one way to get by, and I'm quite certain I know what we need to do."

"You're quite certain? You don't know for sure?"

"Well…no," he admitted. "But we never know anything for sure until we try."

She sighed in exasperation. "Very well. What do we need to do?"

"I was not certain if a barrier such as this would have existed, but as it does, we will need to return to the temple's library. We must locate a text entitled 'The Dreamstride'," he explained.

She looked at him blankly. "And what do you expect this book will tell us?"

"How to pass through to the other side," he replied.

"Right." She turned around and began walking away from him.

"Wait, Marieka! Where are you going?" he exclaimed. "You can't leave…we _need_ to end this!"

"And we need to find that book," she replied. "So are you going to come with me to point me in the direction of the library, or not?"

His eyes widened and he quickly hurried to catch up to her. When they found the library, they carefully entered, certain more foes would be within. And they were right – more Orcs…more priests…more sleeping death…

When the library was secure enough and no more foes could be found, he instructed her on what his research told him the book would look like. They both searched the hundreds of shelves located on the various levels of the library. It was a painstaking task; so many of the texts had been burnt…ruined…destroyed completely. Erandur prayed to Mara again to help them find the text…and that it would be in one piece.

"Erandur," she called out. "I've been wondering something."

"Hmm?"

"Just…how is it that you know so much about the events here?" she asked. "And what you need for the barrier? And that the barrier was even here for that matter?"

"Research," he quickly replied. He glanced up to where she stood on the upper level and she glared down at him. "Okay, fine. I'll tell you the truth. But you can stop giving me that look."

Her expression eased a bit as he stepped back from the shelf he was searching.

"I…was once a priest of Vaermina…here at this temple," he said.

"What?" she exclaimed. "You were involved in this debacle?"

He nodded. "I was a different person then. Young, naïve and seeking the power and promises that worshipping a Daedric Prince all but guaranteed." He saw her shift nervously; her expression was almost…one of awareness. "But the night that this all happened…it changed me. I could no longer feel that my path was the one I should be taking. I renounced my worship of Vaermina and eventually found a new path to tread. Mara's forgiveness and love have set me right. And I must help to right the wrongs I helped create. I _must_ end these nightmares."

She shook her head and turned back to searching for the book. He felt ashamed of his past suddenly; but relieved that he had finally admitted to _someone_ that he had been involved. He continued to search as well.

After what seemed to be hours of searching, he heard a clatter from the upper level. Marieka had run from one of the shelves towards the railing and was leaning over the edge.

"I found it, Erandur!" she exclaimed excitedly.

He rushed up to meet her and the second he saw the text, he felt a wave of exhilaration wash through him. This was the book! This was The Dreamstride!

Placing the book on a nearby table, he quickly scanned through its contents, vaguely aware of what he had been looking for. After a short while, he found the section he required and read through it meticulously.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, this is what we need!"

"What?"

"The priests of Vaermina have always been tremendous alchemists," he said. "As you can imagine, when the Daedric Prince you worship rules over dreams and nightmares, you tend to be more than a little interested in potions and mixtures that produce…hallucinogenic results."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "So you just all sat around the temple mixing up solutions that would cause you all to lose your minds? Oh, for Talos' sake!"

He chuckled. "It wasn't all about that," he said. "Regardless, the potions created were very powerful. And one in particular is what the Dreamstride refers to as Vaermina's Torpor. In fact, the state that it induces is where this text gets its name."

"So then, we need to…find this mixture? Make it?"

"I suspect that there may actually be some of it here. I recall it being created on more than one occasion," he said. He proceeded to describe the draught to her and pointed her in the direction of the largest of alchemical laboratories that existed back when he was a priest. She sighed and headed off alone.

As he waited in the library, he continued to read the fascinating passage of the text. The Torpor was a powerful concoction. Marieka did not know it yet, but she would have to imbibe it. She would be the one to enter the Dreamstride. He hoped she'd agree. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to force her to do so. He doubted it.

A long while passed. He'd heard some noises beyond the door to the laboratory – clatter that suggested she had encountered some more long slumbering residents of the temple. But he did not fear that she'd not make it back. And sure enough, she returned from where she headed some time later. She carried a container with a blood red liquid inside of it.

"The Torpor!" he exclaimed. "You found it!"

"I had hoped this was the one," she replied. "I was getting tired of searching."

"Hurry! We must get back to the barrier to dispel it."

When they arrived, he took the potion from her and examined it. This was the moment of truth – she would have to partake of this to help him destroy this evil. There was no other way.

"Marieka, I need you to be the one to do this," he said.

"Wait, what?" she exclaimed. "You want me to drink this…this…_stuff_?"

He nodded. "I cannot."

"Why not?" She looked angry.

"I can't get into it," he replied, ashamed. "But I need you to trust me."

"Erandur," she said, her voice restrained. "You have lied to me about who you were from the beginning. Why should I trust anything you say?"

"Because the people of Dawnstar need you to," he said. His eyes begged her. "I need you to."

She looked up to the ceiling, sighing. When her eyes returned to look at him, her face had softened.

"What will happen to me if I drink this?" she asked.

"I…I can't tell you exactly," he replied. "What I _can_ tell you is that you will enter a dream. If I'm correct in my assumptions, that dream will be related to this place and if you navigate the dream, you'll be able to get to the other side of that barrier to find the soul gem that is the source of its power. Removing it will dispel the barrier and we can continue."

"Um…this is going to be the strangest experience of my life, isn't it?" she asked rhetorically.

"I must also warn you," he said. "It is said that some Dreamstriders can…come to harm within the dreams they experience."

"Fantastic."

She reached for the potion and removed the cork from the top.

"Easy, Marieka," he cautioned. "You only require the smallest amount."

She looked at him nervously and slowly brought her lips to the phial. Closing her eyes, she tilted it back and sipped the solution. She handed it back to Erandur, and within seconds, she was no longer standing in front of him. Moments passed and she reappeared; only on the other side of the barrier.

"Marieka!" he exclaimed. "You did it!" He put the solution back on the ground and ran to the barrier.

She staggered a bit, leaning against the wall for support. When her stability returned, she found the soul gem and removed it from its resting place, releasing the strange barrier and allowing Erandur access to the Inner Sanctum…after _so _many years.

"You were barely gone," he said. "What happened?"

"I…I was in the temple," she replied breathlessly. "And…it was during the Orc invasion. It was like I was really there. They called me…Casimir. Who's that?"

Erandur gulped nervously. "He was…one of the priests here. A brother."

"They told me to release the Miasma. So…I did it," she said, confused. "Does that mean…Casimir was the one who released the gas? He caused this?"

He nodded. "It…would seem that way," he said quietly. "We should move on." She turned away to continue, but not before eyeing him suspiciously.

The two continued on, navigating the halls of the temple as quickly as they could. He felt in his heart that they were so close. They would be able to end this nightmare.

Finally, they arrived at the corridor that took them to where the Skull of Corruption was kept. As they walked through it, the corridor opened to a small hall, where they discovered two final devotees of Vaermina. The priests Erandur remembered and once called friends – Thorek and Veren. He felt a twinge grip his heart when he laid his eyes upon the men after so long. Guilt overwhelmed him and he nearly doubled over.

"Brother Casimir," Thorek hissed.

"These are the men from the dream," Marieka exclaimed. "The men who told me to release the Miasma. But I'm no longer Brother Casimir. Why do you address me as such?"

She looked at them for a few moments, but then realized they were not looking at her. They were addressing the man that stood slightly behind her. She turned around, anger upon her face.

"_You_ are Brother Casimir," she seethed. "_You_ released this gas and caused this nightmare. You caused _all_ of this. And you risked _my_ life to set things straight. What? So you could sleep better at night?"

"No," he replied, shaking his head quickly. "So that the residents of Dawnstar could. I made my mistakes Marieka. I'm sorry that I brought you here to help me clean them up. It's the only way I could set things right. We must destroy the Skull."

Veren stepped forward aggressively. "You'll do no such thing."

The two priests attacked both Erandur and Marieka viciously. Despite their efforts though, the two long-slumbering priests succumbed to the fight quickly.

As he recovered from the clash, and looked at his former friends lying on the ground, he frowned. He looked back up at Marieka. She stood oddly, as if deep in thought. Her face changed, contorting as if she was waging an internal battle. He continued to watch her until the expression returned to something more neutral.

She looked at him, then up to the Skull.

"Destroy it, Erandur," she demanded.

"Gladly," he replied. He murmured the words he knew would cause its destruction, and watched as a strange red glow surrounded the staff and expanded around him. The glow abated, and when it completely disappeared, he reached out for the staff. When he touched it, the Skull of Corruption shattered like glass into dust.

He breathed deeply; then turned around to face Marieka.

"Thank you."

She nodded. "You know," she said, "Vaermina spoke to me just now."

"Oh?"

"She told me to take the Skull for myself. And to kill you," she replied. "You really…angered her when you turned your back on her."

"I'm not surprised," he said. "Daedric Princes tend not to take too kindly to being abandoned."

"I'll keep that in mind," she said, a small smile appearing on her lips.

"Why did you choose to let me live?" he asked. "You were tempted with a very powerful weapon."

"I, uh…" she began. "Let's just say that dealing with one Daedric Prince is enough for me."

"Should I even bother asking?" He looked at her curiously.

She shook her head. "Wouldn't tell you if you threatened me with nightmares."

He smiled. "Then I thank you again, Marieka. You've done Dawnstar a great service," he said. "And me as well. Should you ever need any help, I would be glad to travel with you."

"I thank you for the offer, Erandur," she replied. "But for now, you should return to the city. Ensure that your people are no longer plagued by the horrors. Heal them."

She continued on for a few more steps, but then stopped and turned suddenly.

"And stop _lying_ to people. You might think they won't accept you for who you really are, but not everyone is as shallow as you think they are. We all make mistakes. It's what we choose to do with those mistakes that defines us. People will understand."

When the two exited the Nightcaller Temple, Erandur pointed out the direction of the road towards Windhelm – for which she was grateful. He watched her until he could no longer see her small figure on the path. The skies were still clear from earlier that night, though the dancing lights in the sky were no longer visible. The stars shone brightly down though, lighting through the darkness of night.

He thought it was appropriate considering what they'd been through.

Erandur headed down the slopes towards Dawnstar once more. It was time for him to rest. If was finally time for them _all_ to rest.


	27. Ulfric Stormcloak II

**I think that my game is experiencing a bit of a bug – I can't get Blood on the Ice to finish. So I apologize if its conclusion here is not as it should be, but this is what I THINK should happen since Skyrim is being testy.**

**Also, I've reached another milestone in readership of this story…thank you ALL so much for reading. This story has been tremendously fun to keep writing, and I'm glad so many of you have enjoyed it. Even though many of you are **_**so quiet**_** about what you've read. Don't be afraid to tell me what you think. I live for that. ;) Oh, and reviewers…you rock my socks. Thanks again.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Ulfric Stormcloak II<strong>_

Strategies never came easy anymore. As Ulfric surveyed the large map of Skyrim, the land of the Nords – _his_ land – it quickly became apparent that the Imperial surge had begun. There were more reports of attacks on Stormcloak camps coming in. It was becoming dangerous to live even within the cities whose Jarls supported the rebellion. Not to mention the dragons.

He looked up from the map to his second, Galmar Stone-Fist. The large, battle-worthy Nord stood at the end of the table upon which the map was situated, and he scowled as he examined the progress of their enemy through their own territory.

"Gonnar Oath-Giver has sent word that the Imperials have attacked," he advised Ulfric. "Can you imagine? They attack us within our own hold in the Rift now."

"This does not bode well, Galmar," he replied. "We need the tide to turn for us. We are fighting an uphill battle. One that has made me second guess my own motives."

"Ulfric," the hulking man began, "you do what you believe is right. And I believe it is right as well. We fight for all Nords. We've witnessed what the Thalmor did to Cyrodiil after the Great War. We cannot allow that to happen to Skyrim. Those wretched Mer overstep their boundaries by too great a distance."

Ulfric leaned over the map once more, about to reply to Galmar, but was interrupted by the appearance of Jorleif at the door.

"Beg pardon, my Jarl," he said, to which Ulfric nodded. "The Breton woman, Marieka, has returned to speak with you."

He glanced at Galmar, whose eyes widened at the announcement.

"So the wee girl returns, does she?" the second replied. "Does she still have all her arms and legs?"

Ulfric chuckled as he stood up and addressed his steward. "Have her come in here, would you? I suspect we don't have anything of strategy to hide from her."

Jorleif nodded and immediately exited the room to retrieve her. When he returned with the girl, Ulfric eyed her up and down. She looked no worse for wear, though appeared to be very weary from her journeys.

"Ah, Marieka," he said as she stood across the table from him. "We expected you back a few days ago. Have you succeeded in your test?"

"Yes, well," she began, "Winterhold experienced quite a blizzard. It turned me all around and I ended up in the Pale." She put up her hands in defense. "Don't ask."

"And the wraith?" Galmar interrupted.

She dug into her robes and pulled out a small sack, holding it up for the man to take from her. He retrieved it and emptied its contents into his hand.

"Hmm. Impressive," he said. "I honestly didn't think you'd have made it back."

She looked at Galmar with a frown. "You sent me on a suicide mission then?"

He shook his head. "No. Many we've sent on the mission before simply turned back when it became too difficult of a journey. You are persistent. Or just hard-headed and stubborn. Either way, those are important qualities for our rebellion."

Ulfric nodded in agreement. "I can only assume that your return means that you still wish to become one of us."

"Normally," she began, "I try to avoid involving myself in politics. But, in this case? I'll more than make an exception."

"Your reasons for this intrigue me," he said, as her eyes darted away from his.

"If it would be acceptable, my Jarl," she replied, "I would rather not discuss my reasons. Just know that my decision is based on a rather unpleasant encounter I once had with the Imperial army. And I'll not waver from my stance."

"Of course," he said. "Should you wish it though, you may discuss anything of that nature with me. We'll see that those Imperials pay for any wrongs they have committed against you and yours."

She nodded with a smile. "Thank you," she replied.

"Your blood may say that you're a Breton, but your heart defines you as a Nord," he said, walking around the table towards her. "A _true_ daughter of Skyrim." He took her hands into his. "All those who seek to become a Stormcloak recite an oath of fealty. To declare their allegiance to our cause. Are you willing to do this?"

She looked intently at him. "I am."

"Good." He released her hands and looked towards his second. "Galmar?"

The man nodded, approaching her. She stood before the two men as Galmar began to recite the oath, prompting her to repeat the words as he proceeded. Yet for all she listened to Galmar's words, her attention was focused solely on Ulfric. Their eyes locked together as she recited the words. Her piercing gaze lit a fire in his belly with its intensity. She had passion for the cause. Something that even the coldest-blooded Nord was beginning to lack in this conflict.

He liked this girl, no…this woman… She had already proven herself not to be underestimated. He wondered if perhaps she wouldn't be the turn to the tide he had been hoping for.

"You are yet Unblooded, Marieka," Ulfric said. "But I have no doubt that will change shortly." He looked at Galmar, who gave him a gnarled grin.

While tempted to treat her like any Stormcloak initiate, her actions had spoken volumes of her. He suspected that she would likely not just end up being a normal recruit, and wished to ensure that she stuck around.

"Perhaps you'd like to join us for dinner this eve," he suggested. "There are some developments that have recently come to our attention that we'd like to speak to you about."

"I…you wouldn't prefer to discuss such things now?" she wavered. "I hadn't planned to stay in Windhelm this day. And I have found it difficult to find accommodation in this city before on such short notice."

"Jorleif," Ulfric called. When the man returned to his side, he continued. "Please show Marieka to suitable quarters for the day." Jorleif nodded and Ulfric turned to face her. "You shall stay overnight should you need to. However long you need to."

"Your generosity overwhelms me," she said, looking at the floor.

"Nonsense," he replied. "Your assistance thus far has earned our favour."

She smiled weakly, continuing to look down.

"Come Marieka," Jorleif said. "I will show you to a room."

She nodded towards Ulfric as she followed the steward out of the war room. He watched her leave, pleased that she would stay for the discussions.

"Careful, Ulfric," Galmar warned his friend. "She is still yet truly untested. We have not seen her against an Imperial yet. Facing down a wraith that thinks nothing of killing you is one thing. But what will she do against another man? Or woman? One who she can identify with…who has a family?"

"She passed her test, Galmar," he replied. "And she will pass the next as well."

"Your confidence in her is unwavering then."

Ulfric nodded. "I sense something in this one. Determination, maybe. Perhaps just luck," he said. "But then, couldn't we use a little luck?"

"That we could," he replied. "I am off to meet with a messenger scheduled to arrive this afternoon at the stables. Perhaps we'll receive some good news with this one."

The warrior departed, leaving Ulfric alone with his thoughts. Hardly anyone was taking an interest in the Stormcloak rebellion these days – the fact that an outsider had, and that she was almost excited to join was a positive development. New enthusiasm was always welcome; no matter where it came from.

* * *

><p>Making his way from his own quarters to the throne room, Ulfric passed slowly by the many rooms of the Palace of the Kings. The winding corridors were dimly lit; torch light playing shadows across the stonework walls. So many rooms of this place were empty – barely any servants remained in the Palace. The cook and several caretakers, really; but they barely took up two rooms. Still, it caused Ulfric sadness when he thought about how lively the Palace had been when his father was the Jarl. Though he considered that the profound unhappiness was more due to the loss of his father, rather than his staff. And his father had died when he was imprisoned in Markarth by the damned Forsworn. <em>Bastards!<em> They stole his last moments with the man, preventing him from even saying goodbye. He had been forced to pen his own father's eulogy from a cell in Cidhna Mine…and smuggle it out to deliver it for the funerary rites.

His hatred for the Forsworn did not extend to all Bretons; which was fortunate for his newest recruit. But Marieka was nothing like those lawless bandits and hedge wizards. At least, as far as he could tell she wasn't. She was respectful, despite that she didn't have to be. Gracious. Enthusiastic.

_And…standing in the doorway._

He hadn't realized he paused at a crossroad in the corridor – the intersection that led to the room Jorleif had placed her in. But he just barely realized a figure stood to his right; and it just happened to be her.

"Jarl Stormcloak," she said, nodding politely.

"Marieka," he said, returning the nod. "And I have advised you that you may call me—"

"Ulfric," she interrupted. "Yes, I apologize for that. It's a force of habit."

"You deal with Jarls often?" he wondered.

"More often than I'd like to," she sighed. "Present company excluded, of course."

He smiled at her. "Of course."

"On the bright side, if you ever need to discuss anything with the Jarls of Whiterun or Riften, I'm your woman," she said cheerfully, with a hint of sarcasm.

"I'll keep that in mind."

She returned an awkward smile of her own and stepped out of the dim light she stood in. She had changed out of her own armour and into a rather masculine looking combination of a dark blue tunic and brown trousers; a lose set of dark blue robes hanging over her shoulders.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"For what?" he asked.

"Your face suggests you do not approve of my outfit," she replied. "Jorleif strongly suggested that I not wear my armour to dinner. Which I agree with of course, yet everything I have with me is equally unsuitable. The only items I could find were these, and some fancy gowns." A scowl crossed her face. "I don't feel comfortable in gowns. Particularly fancy ones."

Ulfric chuckled heartily at her explanation. "We discuss matters of war and battle, my dear," he said. "Fancy gowns are likely not appropriate either. And I would much rather have you comfortable that squirming under some façade."

She breathed a sigh. "That is a relief," she replied.

"I was headed down to the throne room for dinner," he said. "If you are ready, may I escort you?"

"I would like that," she replied with a smile. "I've already found myself lost within these corridors. Why, I believe I used the wash basin of one of the caretakers here. I hope she doesn't mind."

He offered his arm to her, and she took it. They continued down the long and excessively winding hallway, engaging in small talk as they walked.

"How long have you been in Skyrim?" he asked.

"Not very long," she replied. "It was only about two weeks after I crossed the border from High Rock that the Imperial forces apprehended me. When I had first arrived in the province, I found a merchant who sold me a map. I later discovered that it was counterfeit. Led me all astray. I wanted to head to the College of Winterhold, and ended up near the border with Cyrodiil."

"Damned thieves," Ulfric groaned.

She bit her lip for a moment. "Yes…well, at least we managed to come away from that little adventure relatively unscathed. How did you manage to escape Helgen?"

"With the dragon's attack causing such a disturbance, the Imperial troops didn't know what to do," he replied. "I took advantage of their confusion and escaped with some of the men who had been carted in with us that day. It's a shame we hadn't been able to stick together in our escape. We could have had you alongside us this whole time."

"It was a confusing time," she replied. "I didn't even realize I was running alongside an Imperial sympathizer. But I can't really say anything bad about him. He helped me get to Riverwood at least. To a safe place…away from the troops that tried to kill me."

He looked at her. "We should be grateful for that, then."

She smiled back at him as they arrived at the door to the throne room. He opened it and motioned for her to enter first. As she did, he followed her until they walked side by side again to the massive table in front of them. Several places were set, with an unassuming selection of food placed between the settings. He led her to the head of the table, pulling out a chair next to the head for her. She politely sat down and he pushed her chair in, before sitting at the head of the table himself.

Several moments later, Jorleif and Galmar arrived for dinner, as well as several other soldiers and guests of the Jarl. As they settled in to eat their meals, Ulfric watched Marieka closely. She only partially followed along with the conversation across the table from her, rarely joining in. She seemed to be more interested in taking in her surroundings. She looked at the intricately designed arches and doorways. Her eyes followed the walls, as she scanned across them, noticing the tapestries and stonework. They lingered upon the chandeliers high above the hall, as if she were transfixed by the glow of the flames within them.

Ulfric leaned in her direction, causing her to startle. "I certainly don't mean to interrupt your thoughts, but I'm intrigued by why you are so fascinated by the chandeliers."

"Ah, pardon my staring," she replied sheepishly. "It's just the name of this place. For a palace of kings, it is certainly understated."

"Just because one may reference the kings, does not mean one must be showy," he said. "This is an old building. Some say the oldest in all of Skyrim. It once held Ysgramor himself. He settled this city here."

"I hope I did not offend," she said.

"Not at all," he replied. "To be honest, I've always felt that displaying one's wealth leaves them open to theft. Such an anarchic bunch of criminals, thieves." He couldn't help but notice her shift uneasily. "You've spent time in Riften. Have you had many dealings with the Thieves Guild there?"

"In a manner of speaking," she said. "I know some of the Guild. They are not all without conscience."

"Bah," he growled. "Let them rot in their sewers. Keep them out of Windhelm."

"I'd rather not discuss the Thieves Guild right now, Ulfric," she said. "I recall that you wished me to stay in Windhelm because you had something further to discuss."

"Of course," he said. He looked at those still at the table – they had all but finished their meals. "All of you…leave us."

The others, midway through conversation, promptly rose from their seats and headed off in somewhat of a huff. Galmar did not move, and Jorleif looked to his Jarl for further instruction.

"You may also leave us, Jorleif," he replied. "As soon as you have finished, of course."

The steward nodded, but had finished his meal regardless. When he had left the table and all the guests at the table had vacated the room, Ulfric leaned forward to grab a platter with several pieces of chicken remaining upon it. He offered it to the two left at the table with him. Galmar took two more pieces, but Marieka passed.

"This meal leaves me vulnerable to attack," she said, snickering over how satisfied she was. She patted her belly for emphasis.

Galmar laughed heartily. "We need to fatten you up, girl! Put some meat on your bones like a real Nord!"

She smiled at the warrior. "I'd rather not have it all be the result of one meal! But before we get further off the discussion at hand…" She looked to Ulfric. He nodded in agreement.

"We'll not push this off any further," he said. "When I told you I wished to speak of something at dinner, I'll admit, it wasn't this. But at Galmar's orders, our troops have just this day confirmed the location of something that could potentially become a very important symbol for our cause."

"Oh? What did you find?"

"The location of the Jagged Crown," Galmar advised. "I believe I have found its final resting place – at Korvanjund. A half distance between Whiterun and Winterhold."

"The Jagged Crown?" she asked, looking between the two men. "Should I know what that is?"

"I forget that you likely wouldn't know," Ulfric replied. "It has been worn by many Kings and Queens of Skyrim, but was lost many years ago – apparently before the fortress at Korvanjund fell into ruin. It is the ultimate symbol of leadership here. It would certainly assist in allowing the people to see me as their proper leader over Elisif."

"You wish me to assist in retrieving the crown then?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied. "You…Galmar…a handful of soldiers. It should be a small contingent. But there are rumours that the Imperials have learned of our discovery. You'll need to be able to defend yourselves against them."

"You've no worries in that regard, Ulfric," Galmar interjected. "I'm bringing some of our best with us."

"Excellent," he replied. "When do you plan to depart?"

"Tomorrow…midday," Galmar advised. "Prepare yourself, girl. We shall see if you're deserving of being more than just Unblooded."

She nodded as Galmar stood and headed towards the war room to prepare himself. When he was out of sight, she turned to Ulfric.

"Were you able to question Wuunferth about the murders?" she asked.

"He denied all accusations. His story has not changed, but he is still being held," Ulfric replied. "And…there has been another murder."

"Another?" she exclaimed. "What…what happened?"

"It is similar to the others," he replied. "Young woman…left in front of Candlehearth Hall, stripped of her belongings."

She sighed loudly. "It couldn't have been Wuunferth then," she said, disappointed that she had falsely accused the man.

He shook his head. "The guards say the wounds are too similar to be unrelated to the previous murders. I'm afraid we have the wrong person."

"Why is he still being held?" she asked. "Your wizard should be freed."

"Don't mind old Wuunferth," he replied. "He is a stubborn man. He has been advised that he may leave the cell, but he just mutters and refuses. Perhaps you'll find some time to speak to him this evening before you depart tomorrow."

"I can't go tomorrow! I must find this murderer," she cried out, her fisted hand slamming on to the table.

He placed his hand atop hers gently. "Marieka, you shall return to your investigation. But we need to retrieve the crown first. This is important for all of Skyrim."

"But the women," she protested.

He shook his head. "The murders have never happened closely together. Whoever is doing this has left at least a fortnight between them. You'll be back within days and you can resume your investigation then."

She frowned at him. He took his hand back from hers.

"If it would make you feel better, I will increase patrols through the streets," he said. "I will have my guards warn the women of the city to be on alert again. We'll make sure no other women are harmed."

"I suppose that will have to be good enough," she replied. "I wouldn't wish to disobey my first direct order as a Stormcloak."

"No," he said. "You wouldn't." She smiled weakly at him. "Now I suggest that you get some rest. Your journey tomorrow will likely be longer than you wish, and I've no doubt you'll face Imperial opposition."

She nodded and stood up. "Thank you again for your hospitality, Ulfric."

"Anything for a daughter of Skyrim," he said.

As she left his presence, he considered the possibilities that the coming days would bring. The Jagged Crown…he could hardly wait to see such a legend.

* * *

><p>When Galmar returned to the Palace less than two days after leaving for Korvanjund – and <em>with<em> the Jagged Crown – Ulfric's heart pounded with excitement. As he held the crown in his hands, he felt more like a leader to his province than he ever had before. Still, he couldn't help but notice the Breton's absence. He had expected her to be present when they returned.

He questioned Galmar about where she was, but the warrior shrugged, saying that their paths had diverged the moment they entered the gates of Windhelm.

"I've missed the battle, Ulfric," Galmar said with a fierce smile. "My blood flows through me with vigour now."

"I also miss the taste of blood," he agreed. "And we shall see more of it sooner than you know."

"I look forward to it," he replied. "Fighting with the girl at our back was…different."

"How do you mean?" Ulfric narrowed his eyes at the warrior, unsure of what he was about to hear.

"She…used a shout," Galmar said, somewhat troubled. "She practices the Way of the Voice."

Ulfric raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Did you ask her about it?"

Galmar shook his head. "Not my place."

And now he sat – waiting for her to return – wondering how to broach the subject. How did she know the shouts? Had she trained with the Greybeards? She couldn't _possibly_ be the Dragonborn that had been rumoured to have returned to Skyrim…could she?

These questions ran incessantly through his mind – until the moment that evening…the moment she came crashing through the doors of the palace, assisted by two guards. He had been sitting on the throne, leaning heavily on one of the arms when the noise began. He jumped to his feet when he saw them enter and hurried towards the other end of the hall.

"Marieka!" he exclaimed. "By Talos, what happened to you? Where have you been?"

"I found him, Ulfric!" she cried out. "I found him and I killed him!"

"Who?" he asked. "What are you talking about?"

"It was Calixto," she began. "That son of a bitch was the one killing all those women. Wuunferth suspected another murder would happen soon, and he was right!"

"Slow down, girl," Ulfric said. He motioned for the guards to assist her to a seat. When she sat down, he knelt in front of her, examining the wound on her leg that had been causing her to limp. It wasn't deep; in fact, after cleaning it up and some sort of curative balm, it would heal up within a day or so. He turned to one of the guards. "Fetch Wuunferth from the cells. Advise him we need his assistance. Do not accept no for an answer."

As the guard ran off, he looked up at her. "Calixto killed those women?"

She nodded. "I found him in the middle of another attempt. The woman…he had knocked her unconscious. He was about to cut into her. But I interrupted him and instead he attacked me. These guards found me when he was finally dead."

He looked at the remaining guard. "Thank you for bringing her here." The guard nodded and Ulfric excused him.

"It has to have been him, Ulfric," she said. "Send someone to his…_museum_. There _has_ to be evidence that he's the murderer. And by the gods, if we're lucky, we'll find out _why_."

"In good time, Marieka," he advised. "But you need to rest. And heal."

She smiled. "I will. Galmar brought you the crown, yes?"

He nodded. "I was very pleased. And now we must move forward with our plans."

"What plans are those?" she asked, but then bit her lip. "I'm sorry. Perhaps you're not willing to divulge them to me."

"On the contrary. I welcome your counsel," he said. "I seek to deliver a message to Balgruuf the Greater. He has played the middle ground for too long. He must either renounce his pandering to the Empire, or Whiterun will fall to us. It remains his choice."

"Who will take the message?"

"I will send Galmar," he said.

"What if…what if I went in his stead?" she asked. "I have a rapport with Balgruuf. Perhaps I can help him see reason."

"You would go to Whiterun for me? For us?" he asked. Her suggestion surprised him pleasantly.

"I joined the Stormcloaks to offer any assistance I could," she reminded him. "I'm good at dealing with these people. Let me use that to our advantage."

He smiled and nodded. "Your enthusiasm is welcome. Very well. You shall set off for Whiterun – but not before you have had time to recover from your injuries. I had not planned on sending Galmar for several days anyhow. This will not be a setback. I shall see that you stay here until you leave. And should you require _anything_, you will contact my steward and he shall see to it that your request is fulfilled."

"Thank you Ulfric," she replied. "As soon as I am able, I will leave for Whiterun to deliver your message."

As they waited for the reinstated court wizard to arrive to tend to her wounds, he considered asking her about what Galmar had witnessed. He was curious about her use of the shout. At the same time, she'd been through enough that night and thought better of bringing the issue to the surface.

There would be plenty of time to learn more about this woman. And he was merely grateful that she happened to be on his side.


	28. Brynjolf IX

**Oh my lord...these Brynjolf chapters are starting to test my knowledge of Roman numerals. What the hell prompted me to start titling my chapters that way?**

**Anyway, I read a really great chapter of one of zevgirl's stories a while back. I was inspired to attempt something she accomplished with it – communication without having both characters actually present together. I'm not sure if my attempts have worked out, but here goes anyhow…**

**And yes. If you are a fan of Dragon Age, you should check out her story, Release from the Chains. Brilliant!**

**Thanks for all the new reviews, faves, alerts, etc. You guys rawk!**

**Right then…on with the show…**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Brynjolf IX<strong>_

_I must leave you tonight my love  
>Remain so faithfully<br>I must go off to war my dear  
>The kings await me<br>I will go so far away  
>I will always love you<br>But you knew_

'_Save Me', The Tea Party (Martin, Chatwood, Burrows)_

* * *

><p>Brynjolf knew what she told him.<p>

_I will likely be gone for a long while. I have much business to attend to, but I will return. And I'll think of you in every waking moment…and see you in my dreams…_

He remembered the look in her eyes…the longing that she wanted to fulfill, but had to let stay. That look had been given more than a few times – every time they were forced to part. He knew she wanted to stay. Gods, he'd have given everything for her to stay. Though she never could. She had her life, and as intertwined as it was becoming with his own, there were still some things she felt she needed to do on her own.

He tried desperately not to worry about her. He knew how Marieka felt about being fussed over in that way. But it still became difficult as the days passed to not wonder of her fate as he continued to hear nothing of her whereabouts.

This must have been exactly how her husband felt…once upon a time…

He shook his head. _No. I am not that man._

Despite the fact that Marieka and Onmund had been untrue to each other, Brynjolf believed that it wouldn't happen with them. She had been nothing but honest about her actions…her intentions…_everything_ from the moment they met. And the things that she did hold back from him were for good reason. He understood her motivations for that. It's not everyone who has to admit they are of dragon blood.

No, his worry for her was not that she had found someone new to latch on to. His worries were for the dangers she continually found herself in. He'd witnessed her near death on several occasions. Or heard of it after the fact. He wasn't sure what was worse.

He looked around the Riften marketplace. The day was slow. Barely anyone was perusing the wares of any of the merchants, his included. He didn't even know why he kept up the appearances of the stall now that the Guild was humming along at a good pace. He supposed it was for posterity's sake. Perhaps more so because it got him out of the dank sewers of the cistern. The Guild would always be home, but sometimes he just needed air…space to move without the eyes of his fellow thieves upon him. They eyed him with suspicion more these days – with good reason, he admitted. It was quite evident to the rest of them that _something_ was going on between he and Marieka, and he knew they were all quite concerned over the potential for nepotism. He knew she didn't seek preferential treatment in the Guild, but then, they didn't know her like he did. Maybe it was time to just…_come out with it_. To admit what was going on, and move on with their lives. But every time that thought popped into his head, he considered Karliah and Gallus, and just how their lives had been torn apart because _someone_ knew how to manipulate their feelings towards each other.

Of course…in this case, that someone was dead…

As he stood, lost in thought, he noticed a young man approaching his stall. He straightened up to greet him, hoping for a good sale with this potential customer.

"Good day there, lad," he said with a salesman's smile. "Looking for a cure for what ails you? Or hmm…young man like you could do with a love potion, no?"

The man's cheeks tinged slightly at the implication, as he cleared his throat. "Uh, no," he replied quickly. "I'm not here to purchase anything."

Brynjolf groaned, disappointed. "What are you here for then?"

"I was sent to find a tall, fiery-haired Nord in the market named Brynjolf," he said, looking around at the other merchants. "You seem to be the only Nord merchant, and so I had hoped…"

"Aye, lad," he replied, cutting the young man off. "You've found him. What is the nature of your inquiry?"

"No inquiry," he said. He stuck his hand out with a folded and sealed piece of parchment in his grip. "Correspondence for you."

"A letter?" he said, now recognizing the man as a courier. "Who sent this?"

"Didn't say," the courier replied. "Though she had these strange markings on her face. Around her eyes…and here." He pointed at his chin.

"Marieka!" he exclaimed. He immediately worked at the seal to remove it, wanting to discover what she'd been up to so badly. The courier turned to leave, but Brynjolf interrupted him. "Say, you aren't planning on being in Riften for long, are you?"

"Perhaps," he replied. "Why do you ask?"

"I may have correspondence to send back," he said, shrugging. "I'd make it worth your while to stay. Where did you bring this from?"

"Windhelm."

"Windhelm?" he repeated. "What is she doing there?"

The courier shrugged. "Should I meet you later?"

"I'll drop by the Bee and Barb once the market closes for the day," Brynjolf advised.

"Fair enough," he replied, heading off as the thief returned to his letter.

When he peeled the seal off, careful not to rip the parchment, he unfolded the letter. He realized it was the first time he'd seen her cursive. The script was shaky…looked almost hurried, but was legible. He leaned back upon the half wall of stone that wrapped around the back area where his stall stood. His anticipation of what she had to say got the better of him, and he stopped thinking of how her writing appeared, and just settled down to read it.

_My dearest Brynjolf…_

He could almost hear her say the words.

_By now, I suspect that you have plied the courier I have hired to deliver this to you for as much information as you possibly could regarding my whereabouts. Rest assured, he knows nothing more than where I am at the moment, and you should not perceive his lack of knowledge to be a lie on his part._

He smiled. She knew him too well already. How did she know his very thoughts so often? It was as though he were a book that she read…over and over…until she knew him better than he knew himself.

_I have been procuring some rare alchemical ingredients in my travels, which have taken me to some new settlements across the province. It also hasn't hurt that I picked up a few jobs to take care of from Vex and Delvin before I set off. A few of them were in Windhelm, so I thought I'd visit the city and see what was happening there. It's quite a beautiful place, actually. The architecture here is terrific – and old! This city has more history than anywhere I've been before. Perhaps I'm exaggerating a bit. I have seen some awfully old crypts and things. Regardless, there are many stories hidden behind the great walls of it._

Her words brought back memories of the time he spent in the city as a youth. He recalled the Palace of the Kings and its sheer size. It was majestic to view for the first time, and could only imagine the look on her face when she initially laid eyes upon it. And that place…oh, it _did_ hold history. So much of it that in the several years he'd lived there, he'd only begun to scratch the surface of all that had happened in Windhelm.

_I'd all but forgotten before I arrived here that this is the seat of power for the Stormcloaks and their rebellion. In fact, you might be surprised to learn that my path has already crossed with that of Ulfric Stormcloak, the Jarl._

Surprised? No…not at all, actually…

_There were several murders of young women that had occurred in the city before I arrived. With the war brewing with the Imperials, it seemed that the city guard were focused on…hmm…other things I suppose. So, you know me. I can't stay out of things like that. I volunteered to help._

Of course she did. He wouldn't have expected any less.

_And when I sought out the steward of the Jarl to ask for permission, I instead found Ulfric. With all the rumours of his murdering the High King by shouting at him, I expected him to be…well, let me just say that he's not what I expected. He's taken a bit of interest in me, and asked if I wished to take part in the rebellion._

Brynjolf felt a twinge of jealousy pick at his stomach. This man…this Ulfric, the leader of the Stormcloak rebellion, was spending time with _his_ Marieka. Time that he wished he could spend with her himself. He furrowed his brow, surprised at his own reaction.

_I hope that you will not be upset…or disappointed, but given my own experiences with the Empire, I decided to offer myself to the cause. I've already completed somewhat of an initiation to the Stormcloaks and we searched a very old ruin for the Jagged Crown. I'd never heard of it, but being that you're a Nord, and know your history – especially where old treasures are concerned – I would imagine you know what it is._

He nodded to himself, knowing exactly what the Crown was, and what it represented. A very powerful symbol for whoever held it in their possession. And Marieka had assisted the potential future High King of Skyrim to obtain it. An impressive feat, though it did not do anything for the covetous feelings that continued to well up inside him.

_Frankly, I'm surprised he's been so accepting of my assistance. He seems to distrust outsiders. Or perhaps it's just the Mer, but I suppose he has his reasons. I hope to learn more from him regarding why he's made the decisions he's made – particularly in relation to the elves in Windhelm…and the Argonians. He also doesn't seem to care much for those in our line of work. But don't worry, love…I haven't let on what I do. And I plan to help him see our side of the story at some point. If he doesn't, I still hope to establish a strong footing for the Guild in Windhelm. Let Delvin know that the next time he's drowning his sorrows in a mug of mead. Perhaps it'll put a smile upon his face._

Despite her reassurances, he still felt nervous about what she was telling him. He worried that she was getting too involved with Ulfric and his rebellion. Or, that could have just been the jealousy talking again.

_I would have written to you sooner, but it has been a tremendously busy time for me. I'm sure you can imagine. Now I have been tasked to speak to the Jarl in Whiterun regarding their stance on the war that is brewing. Ulfric is forcing Whiterun to choose a side. This is a bit of a frightening prospect. If he sides with the Stormcloaks, the Empire will come down hard upon the city. But if Balgruuf chooses the Imperials…it's not going to be pretty. I suspect I will be sent off to the city if that happens. But, that is for another time to discuss. For now, I will make my way there to present the opportunity for Balgruuf to make his decision. I plan to return to Windhelm once that happens. I have some loose ends to tie up regarding one of Vex's jobs._

His shoulders tightened as he read her letter. She was becoming a pawn in the war between the Imperials and the Stormcloaks. It did nothing for his level of worry for her. She was her own woman, and she deserved to be able to make her own choices…but it didn't make being the man in his position any easier.

_I wish you could be holding me right now instead of this letter, but unfortunately I have involved myself in something I just couldn't keep out of. I hope you understand, Bryn._

Of course he understood. It was who she was.

_I will return to Riften the moment all this blows over. With any luck, Balgruuf will side with the Stormcloaks, and my task will be complete. And I will return to your arms once again. Mara as my witness, I have never ached to see your face so much. I miss you terribly Bryn. I miss your scent. I miss the sound of your voice. I even miss when you call me 'lass'. Actually, I especially miss when you call me that. There's nothing more that I want right now than to feel your strong arms wrapped around me, love. Have no fear that I will rush back to your side the second I can. By the gods Bryn...why am I so in love with you?_

He wondered that himself sometimes. He smiled once again as he read through her professions of longing. Similar thoughts had been filling his head these days. He missed sitting with her in the dim light of Honeyside, as her eyes sparkled from the glow of the fire in the hearth. Her laugh – that truly infectious laugh she let loose when the two were hidden away from the rest of the world together. The secretive smiles she'd give him from across a room when she knew no one else was looking. The way they could lounge about in bed for hours of the day when there was no other important business to attend to; when she was comfortable enough to share long-buried tales of her life with him. But most of all, he just missed her. Just having her with him was quickly becoming the best feeling in the world. Better than a successful heist...or a cold mug of mead after a long day. Better than all the coin one could imagine.

_I hope you have taken me up on my offer to spend some more time at Honeyside. I've advised Iona that you may decide to stay and that the two of you can work out how much time you'd like to be there. She's told me that she'll be more than happy to visit her betrothed. In fact, I think she's hoping that you might move your residence there permanently. She knows that I'll release her from her duties as housecarl if that happens. I'd not be unhappy if when I returned to Riften, you had decided to be there waiting for me. How lovely of a thought is that? Sharing my home and bed with you until our last breath. Please tell me you'll make it so._

He hadn't yet gone to Honeyside since she'd left on this journey. He wasn't sure what to say to Iona, though now that he knew she was aware of it, perhaps he'd mull it over. Still, the house would be lonely without Marieka. Her imprint was on everything in it – being reminded of her in her absence was bittersweet. For one thing, he loved the idea of waking up in her bed – in _their_ bed if she had her way – surrounded by things that belonged to her. But constantly being reminded of her would make her return seem that much further off. He'd consider it at least. Perhaps he'd stop by...see if he couldn't work something out with Iona. After all, she hoped to leave the home for a short while at least – this would be more for her than it was for him. Or at least, that's what he could tell himself.

_Oh dear me...I feel like I've written you a tome! I suppose I will leave it at that. Know that I am safe and I am well. I miss you more than I could ever express to you in mere words. Perhaps I will consider showing you just how much upon my return to Riften. I love you with all my being..._

_Yours,  
>Marieka<em>

Brynjolf folded the parchment back up and held it to his heart as he released a sigh. Her return to him couldn't come fast enough. Especially since he knew she was headed to Whiterun to deliver a message of...instigation. He worried that the court of the city might use her to deliver a message of its own. It would be political suicide, but this was a time of war, and all bets were off. While it likely wouldn't have been able to reach her before she left Windhelm, he decided he could deliver a message upon her return. He was glad to have had the foresight to request that the courier stay in Riften for the day. It would be time to get started on a letter of his own as soon as he found a good place to do so.

He could head to the cistern, but he'd never have enough privacy. There'd be interruptions and annoyances and it was inevitable that both Vex _and_ Delvin would figure out what he was doing and crack their jokes. No, anything around the Guild just wouldn't do. It certainly wasn't as if he had any business in the marketplace – he could almost certainly afford to just abandon his stall for the day.

Glancing to the north of the market, he observed the bridge that crossed behind the Bee and Barb. It was the bridge that ultimately would lead him to Honeyside. She _did_ seem to want him to stop by...maybe it wouldn't hurt. Why bother putting it off? It would give Iona more time to spend with her husband-to-be anyhow. Not that Brynjolf cared much about that – it wasn't as though he was a hopeless romantic or anything of the sort. _Romance...who needs it? Take what you can and get out is what I always say. Of course, a certain Breton had to waltz into my life and throw everything out of balance. Oh Marieka, if you could see me now. Pining over you...still... Gone astray like a puppy that has lost its master._

Yet even his internal monologue could not convince him that living with her was a bad idea. In fact, the more he considered it, the more he knew it was the next step. It was logical. It was natural. It didn't make sense for anything else to happen. He loved her. Why wouldn't he want to spend every waking moment with her? Besides...that bed was like paradise.

Before he even realized it, he found himself knocking on the door of Honeyside, waiting for Iona to open the door to him. When she did, her face lit up in the hopes that he was there to send her on her way for a few days. It took no time at all for the two to sort out when she would need to return before she had packed up her things and was on her way. When the door had closed behind her, Brynjolf took a look around; finally starting to allow it to sink in that Marieka _wanted_ him to be here. Why he was so hard-headed sometimes, he couldn't say. Though as he looked around, he could see the sun's rays begin to peek in the windows. Soon the sun would be setting, and he considered that he'd better get to work on his reply to her if the courier he'd asked to wait were to bring it back to her in a reasonable amount of time.

It had been quite some time since he'd sat down to write a letter like this. Years in fact. Most of his correspondence amounted to business, but this would be something he actually enjoyed doing. A return to the life he had once wanted to live; penning words of poetry for others in far off places to take pleasure in. Perhaps this wouldn't be nearly as sweeping as he was setting it up to be, yet the emotions he felt were the same. It had been so long since he had written something for the pure delight of simply writing.

Pulling the chair out from under her writing desk, he reached for an inkwell and quill. As he sat down, he pulled a piece of parchment from a small pile she kept on the desk and pondered what he could say to her. He retrieved her letter from his pocket and unfolded it. He read through it once more, and carefully mulling over his response.

_My lovely Marieka..._

Hmm...a good start, he supposed.

_It was a surprise to find your courier approaching me in my stall this day. Though not an unpleasant one, once I recognized what his intent was. I am currently holding him hostage in Iona's room at Honeyside until he gives up every last detail about what you were wearing when he last saw you in Windhelm. I will return him to you, along with this letter, when he has agreed to tell me._

He was convinced that with enough of his charm and humour injected into the words, she would rush back to Riften to see him again..._regardless_ of what commitments were made and duties were left unfinished with the Stormcloaks.

_Your words have stirred something within me. I long for your return to me, and while I wish you could come back the moment you finish reading this, I know this cannot be. You truly are a remarkable woman, Marieka. I am not shocked at all with how you've involved yourself in the affairs of those poor murdered women. I trust that you have already sufficiently assisted in helping to apprehend the perpetrator of the crimes. The city guard of Windhelm must owe you a great deal already._

The pangs of jealousy over her discussion of Ulfric welled up again. He re-read her words, pulling at his hair at the base of his neck. He may not have known the man, but he knew of his type. Using their station in life to get what they needed, tossing the pieces aside when they were withered and used up. He refused to let that happen to her. Though, he also couldn't help but consider that it could be eerily similar to the way his relationship with her had started – mentor and protégé, working together for a common goal; only to discover something deeper existed. He wasn't sure if this worried him even more.

_When I first thought to respond to your missive, I had not considered bringing this up, yet I cannot seem to put these thoughts out of my mind. I'd rather believe that I am above these thoughts, but apparently you have enthralled me to the point that I am capable of such lowly behaviour. Your talk of Ulfric Stormcloak's interest in you has me reeling. I have not had feelings of this for a very long time. Dare I say, I am envious of the time that the man is spending with you. You had best not tease me over my admission of this to you. It is taking a lot of strength for me to confess this. Perhaps this is part of the spell you have cast over me. I'll not forgive you if you spend one moment laughing about this._

All kidding aside, he felt slightly guilty for allowing jealousy to cloud his thoughts. But he needed to get it out into the open. He was normally a stronger man than this – what is it that she did to him?

_I also feel that I need to acknowledge my worry for you. Your decision to join the Stormcloaks is an honourable one. I do not wish to command you one way or another. I merely want you to know that it does not help my pacing through the streets of Riften as I am uneasy over your safety while you are so far away from me. Have no fear, my love…I would not demand that you return to my side to remain as a delicate flower, never to be picked or trampled on. But you should know that when I next see you, you will not be released from my grasp for many days. I trust you will not argue with me over the terms I provide you for your return._

_I have lost sleep on several nights since you have been gone due to concern over your wellbeing. You cannot return soon enough, Marieka. I wish to hold you in my arms, just as much as you long to be held. The cistern has been excessively cold and lonely and I believe you will be pleased to know that I write this letter to you from the very writing desk in your own home. I have sent Iona to be with her betrothed for several days as I give your bed some company. I believe that if I were to ever be unfaithful to you, it would be with this bed and this bed alone. My apologies, love…I should not jest about that. But you know how I feel about this bed. Though, I would give up a lifetime of sleeping in the comfort of it for one night with you._

Writing the words on the parchment made them real. He ached for her; longed for her soft touch. Wished to see the tiny crinkles that formed at the corners of her mouth when she smirked at him. Thought of nothing but the sound of her voice and the way she moaned his name in the throes of passion and the dark of night.

By the gods, he missed her.

_My one request for you is this: finish your tasks and come back to me. The days are long enough when I know you will be returning by nightfall, but they are unbearable without you. I implore you to be safe. I miss you, Breton._

_All my love,  
>Brynjolf<em>

Nothing he could have written would have sufficed to express his truest feelings to her. She would just have to wait until she returned to find out what he had really been thinking this day.

He folded the parchment carefully and sought out wax and a seal to securely close the letter. When the letter was ready to be delivered, he made his way to the Bee and Barb to seek out the courier he'd met with earlier that day. The letter would find her by the next day, or would be waiting for her upon her return to Windhelm from Whiterun. And he could do nothing but hope that she would return to Riften posthaste.

* * *

><p>Several days had passed without word from Marieka. Brynjolf had spent the time pacing in the cistern…walking circles around Honeyside…trying to keep his mind busy and off of what could possibly be delaying a response from her.<p>

But just as he was about to pace a hole in the ground of his stall, he was shocked by the appearance of the courier he'd sent to Windhelm with his letter. The man hurried to him.

"Brynjolf."

He nodded at the courier. "Do you have a reply for me?"

"I do," he replied, holding out the letter. "Will you require me to wait?"

Brynjolf dug into his pockets and tossed the man a good deal of coin. "If you do not see me by sundown, I will have nothing for you to send. I trust this will keep you in mead until then."

"Much appreciated," the courier said with a smile and he headed off to the Bee and Barb.

He unsealed the letter carefully, fingers trembling from nerves and excitement. He immediately noticed that this letter was quite a bit shorter than her previous correspondence.

_My Nord thief,_

_I was ecstatic to find your reply waiting for me upon my return to Windhelm. Our courier was in a surprisingly good mood considering you held him hostage in the cellar. He was pleased to be the one to bring this back to you. I think he's fond of you perhaps? Or perhaps of the coin you provided him last time. Either way, we may have a personal go between from here on out._

_I have had a rather large smile upon my face since reading your letter. I promise you I did not laugh. I did no such thing. In fact, I am flattered that my spending time with Ulfric has caused you to become jealous. I assure you, my love…our relationship is strictly business. Beneficial for both of us. The Imperials will regret crossing me so many years ago._

_Unfortunately, I have no good news from Whiterun. Jarl Balgruuf has decided to refuse Ulfric's request for allegiance. I will not be able to return to Riften yet – Ulfric has requested that I accompany his rebels to take Whiterun for the Stormcloaks. I have agreed. As Thane of the city, I feel a certain duty to try to protect the citizens there. I will not be able to do that if I do not join. I suspect this will put me in a more perilous position than I have been in for some time. But I do not wish you to worry excessively for me. If there is one thing that will drive me to survive this battle, it is the thought of returning to you._

_And once this battle at Whiterun has reached its completion, return to you I will. I miss you, Brynjolf. I will be with you soon._

_I love you…  
>Marieka<em>

His heart nearly ceased beating as he read her letter. She was willingly marching to war for the Stormcloaks. His grip on the letter tightened, causing the parchment to crinkle and fold. Without thinking, his feet let him through the streets of Riften to the graveyard and down into the cistern. He rushed down into the Flagon, calling for Vex or Delvin or anyone that would listen.

Delvin was the first to hear him.

"Mate, what's got you in such a tizzy?" the Breton asked.

"Del…I. I need you to do me a favour," he responded.

"Yeah, Bryn," Delvin replied. "Whatever you need."

Brynjolf nodded his appreciation. "Keep an eye on Honeyside for me. Marieka's housecarl will not be returning for another day, and I'd appreciate it if some of our newer associates didn't take that as an invitation to rob it."

"Of course," he said. "But why? Where will you be?"

"I'm going after Marieka, Del. I'm going to Whiterun."

He turned around and headed back the way he came, leaving a bewildered Delvin in his wake.


	29. Galmar StoneFist

**I've been wanting to write a chapter from Galmar's POV for a while. This guy is SO bloody awesome. I was partially inspired by some beautiful artwork over at dA by a lovely gal named yorecross. Check this amazing piece of work out. fav . me / d4plnqf (no spaces obviously). This guy's face blows me away and drove me to write him like I did. Crazy. Crazy like a fox hopped up on anti-rabies meds.**

**Cheers to everyone who thought I wrote the love letter thing for Valentine's Day. I didn't realize it was appropriate until so many of you pointed it out. See, this is what feels more properly romantic to me…the love hate relationship between Marieka and Galmar…fully realized.**

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><p><em><strong>Galmar Stone-Fist<strong>_

_And I walk out the door  
>Get blown wide open<br>By the things I'd put away  
>And I wasn't even warned<br>Just blown wide open  
>Now the mess is where I lay<em>

'_Blown Wide Open', Big Wreck (Thornley)_

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><p>The road to Whiterun from Windhelm had been long and uneventful. Galmar considered that it was probably for the best. Better to save all their energy and effort for the battle to come. It was likely that the Jarl of Whiterun would not yet have had the time to contact the Imperial forces to advise them of Ulfric's ultimatum. Part of Galmar was disappointed about that; he hoped that the Imperial swine would have been present. More blood for him to spill. He had recently tasted battle again and it was glorious.<p>

Nothing could have pleased the Nord more than hearing the news upon the young Breton's return – Jarl Balgruuf the Greater had refused Ulfric's war axe. It was looked upon as a declaration of war in the province of Skyrim to ignore the presentation of such a weapon. When Marieka returned to the Palace of the Kings – axe in hand – Galmar felt his blood began to boil within his veins. He fought back the urge to set off immediately for Whiterun…to take the city by storm himself.

Ulfric demanded his troops be at the ready; they would leave within mere days of the girl's return. And leave they did. Hundreds of soldiers…men, women…all of them rebels hoping to regain Skyrim for those who it belonged to. It was perhaps for this reason that Galmar didn't understand why she had been so eager to join the Stormcloaks. He sent her off on a quest that he hoped would have sent her packing, but when she returned to Windhelm with the teeth of the very ice wraith he had sent her off to fight, he was taken aback. She called him out for intending to send her to her death, but Galmar's only intention was that the quest would separate the men from the boys…or the Nords from the Bretons, so to speak. Only, he had never expected her to return…and successfully at that.

Marieka's return – in one piece – caused him to gain respect for her. She was willing to fight alongside the Stormcloaks, and despite the fact that she was one of those uppity half breeds from High Rock, Galmar was impressed. Still, it didn't stop him from pushing her…taunting her for her small stature and her use of magic.

What _did_ give him pause however was when he witnessed her using a shout in Korvanjund. He had advised Ulfric, who later confided in Galmar. He had begun to suspect that she was the Dragonborn that had been rumoured to have returned to Skyrim. Ulfric had not yet had the opportunity to confront her about the issue, and Galmar wasn't certain it was his place to do so, yet…if the opportunity arose…

"Galmar!"

The Nord could see a soldier hurrying in his direction. "Which one are you again?"

"Ralof," the man replied. "Of Riverwood."

"And what news do you bring…Ralof of Riverwood?"

"The siege on the city has begun," Ralof replied. "The trebuchets are assaulting from afar and we are moving on the walls from our position at the farms on the outskirts. We have a problem however."

Galmar glanced to his right, where Marieka stood. Even though she was tiny compared to most of the other soldiers present, her dark, sleek armour gave her somewhat of an intimidating appearance. It demanded that she be taken seriously, lest she be lost in the crowd or a shadow – only to reappear with a dagger at her enemy's neck.

"What kind of problem?" he asked.

"The gate to the city has been secured," Ralof said. "This isn't a surprise to us, but we've had no success trying to get it open yet. They've got archers picking off our men as they get anywhere near the entrance."

"Marieka, do you—?" he began.

"I'm on it," she interrupted, adjusting her pack. "There is a small walkway that leads up to the top of the gate that the guards rarely patrol. I'm sure if I can get into it, I'll be able to open the gate. But I'll need someone to draw their attention from me."

Galmar signaled for several soldiers to head to the gate with her and when they were informed of the plan, the group headed off across the fields towards the city. As he watched them leave, his eyes were drawn to the city in the distance. Whiterun was already burning. Columns of thick, black smoke were spiraling up into the low lying clouds above the city. He imagined the acrid taste in the back of his throat as he observed the fiery projectiles being launched from behind the Stormcloak's lines. Thick rainclouds were moving in from the west, yet even the rains that had begun to fall were not extinguishing the fires that were burning within Whiterun's fortifications.

When some time had passed, he took a small contingent of soldiers with him to await the opening of the city gates. They were far enough back that Whiterun's ranged troops could not reach them with their arrows, but close enough to begin to smell the scent of blood and death wafting on the air. As they stood at the ready, the clouds began to pass overhead, showering them with cold and unforgiving pelts of rain. Galmar could see energy crackling in the air near the city entrance and wondered if it was Marieka and her magic ripping through the skies. It was a much better idea for her to employ the use of her arcane talents rather than her sword arm, even if he preferred the thought of a battle where you could see the eyes of your foe; where there was intimacy in shedding blood when your enemy was no more than the length of a blade away.

Soon the volleys of arrows from atop the walls of the city stopped. The defenses had been taken down, and he had no doubt that the gates would open soon. Galmar led his group closer to the wall, ready to break through the enclosure. As they approached, he could hear Marieka addressing those with her.

"…careful not to attack Whiterun's citizens," she called out loudly. "Think of your husbands and wives and children. They are these people. Caught in a war that they want no part of. We can win this battle without shedding so much more blood."

Galmar heard shouts of approval from his own soldiers and roared in anger, even as he saw the gates to the city opening up. When he reached the gates, he saw her jump down from an adjacent ramp.

"Breton!" he screamed. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"I am Thane to this city, Galmar," she exclaimed. "These are _my_ people! I refuse to see them killed simply for existing in their own homes."

"Then perhaps you should stand beside them to be run through," he growled at her.

"I'll not stand by and allow you to mindlessly slaughter the innocents of my city," she protested.

"Bah!" he scowled, all but ignoring her. He pushed past her, drawing his sword.

She reached for his arm and despite her small size, forced him to stop to turn back to her. "We do this _my_ way, Galmar. We _will_ take Whiterun for the Stormcloaks. But Talos be my witness, if _one drop_ of innocent blood is spilled, I will personally see to it that I have your head."

He raised an eyebrow at her impertinence. "Consider yourself fortunate that Ulfric believes you to be important to our cause. You'd be at the end of my blade otherwise."

She glowered at him. "You don't even know what you're dealing with, old man."

He narrowed his eyes in her direction. "Keep pushing, _girl_," he snarled. "Fine. We do this your way. But guards are fair game. And if anyone attacks us…"

"Of course," she replied. "Now stop bickering with me about it."

He pulled away from her and stomped onward into the city. He watched her in his periphery; he posture betrayed her concern. As they strode through the streets, making their way to Dragonsreach and the Jarl, they would face numerous guards, and she obviously hoped most would back down to the rebels marching on Whiterun. Even so, he was glad to see that she wasn't completely naïve and that her sword was at the ready. When they had passed some of the buildings, he noticed she paid close attention to one of them as she walked by it.

Suddenly, a flash of movement caught his eye and Marieka was forced backwards by some unknown attacker. She managed to get her blade up in defense but stumbled and crashed to the ground. A woman stood over her, her sword pointed at the girl on the ground. He watched, surprisingly ready to defend Marieka, yet saw the woman who attacked her as her expression changed.

"My Thane?"

"Lydia! For Talos' sake. Why did you just attack me?" she grumbled, pushing herself off the ground and dusting herself off.

"I…I didn't realize you were part of this…these…" She waved her arm around towards the rebels assembled around her. "Please tell me you're not one of them."

Galmar made to step forward towards the woman, but Marieka stopped him. "Lydia, please just…return to Breezehome. Stay there until this conflict has ended. Whatever your feelings towards me are…whatever you think of this rebellion, do not let it cloud your judgment. Stay out of this conflict, I beg you."

Lydia's eyes widened. She looked shocked to hear what the Breton had to say. Galmar suspected there was history between the two, but now was not the time for it.

"I suggest you listen to the girl if you wish to see the dawn tomorrow," Galmar threatened. Lydia turned to him, ready to be defiant, but then lowered her weapon and retreated. She stomped off to the house that had Marieka's attention mere moments earlier.

They continued on. Attacks from the guards of the city came from ahead of them…behind them…between buildings…around corners. The sheer number of city guards that attempted to hold their position and defend the city was staggering. Most fell easily against the imposing swing of Galmar's war axe. Yet as he felled many of the Imperial sympathizers before him, he could hear Marieka pleading with those who attacked her to stop…to lower their weapons. At first he thought she wished to surrender, but then recognized that she merely did not want to have to kill these soldiers. These men and women who she once realized as ally, and not foe.

But this was war. And there was no room in war for sympathy.

"Stop groveling, Breton," he demanded. "You said these guards were fair game."

"_You_ said they were," she reminded him. "And I will not kill anyone without offering them a chance to flee the city."

"So they may run off to the Empire to strengthen their numbers?" he snapped. He looked at her. The expression she wore displayed nothing but heartbreak and torment. She did not wish to be forced to decide to kill these people. These weren't faceless Imperials.

"This isn't who I came here to fight, Galmar," she replied. "The guards of Whiterun are doing their _jobs_. They are not defending the city for the Empire; they are defending their homes. These are the very people I fought alongside to slay the dragon at the Western Watchtower. I can't do this. I will fight against the Imperials, but I will not fight these people."

He watched her sheathe her blade. She turned and began to walk back the way from which they came.

Galmar wanted to call her a coward. He wanted to push her back into the battle, but could not bring himself to do so. She refused to fight on principle…_her_ principles…and it was an admirable stance to take. Unfortunately, not one that he could agree with.

"Let her go," he growled to his men. "We push on."

As he turned and made to continue on for the city's peak, several noises caught his attention.

_Woosh…_

_Thunk…_

"Gah!"

He spun around, making eye contact with her as she turned to face him once more. She looked down at herself, her hands instinctively reaching for her abdomen – an arrow protruding from just below her chest.

"Galmar," she gasped. "I…" She dropped to her knees, clutching at the arrow. Her eyes were wide.

One of the rebels nearby pointed in the direction the arrow had come, spotting an archer stationed up on a hill. He and another solder charged off in the guard's direction to attack him.

"Healer!" Galmar shouted. "Where are the gods damned healers?" Another rebel responded to his question by running towards the main gate of the city where Stormcloak reinforcements were advancing. The large Nord knelt down at her side, helping her to lie back on the ground. He pressed on the wound, trying to slow the bleeding. She pulled her hands from the arrow and looked at them.

"Galmar…I'm bleeding," she said.

"Yes, you _stupid_ Breton," he replied. "You are. Was that one of the men you let go with your damned compassion and pity?"

She shook her head weakly. "I'm sorry Galmar," she said quietly. "I can't…fight these people. They are not our enemies."

"Then you can thank one of your _friends_ for shooting an arrow into your ribcage," he hissed. "Ulfric is going to have my head if you die. You'd best survive this or I'll find a necromancer to bring you back from the dead, so I can kill you again myself."

"Oh, Galmar," she coughed. "I never knew you cared." He looked down on her as her lips settled into a feeble grin. Beyond where she lay, the soldier that had run off was returning quickly with a priest. As the priest knelt by her side, Galmar retreated from her side and stood up. His hands were stained with her blood, which he used to mark his face like war paint.

And while he knew she'd not have wanted it that way – particularly in her name – he spilled the blood of _every_ last guard who crossed his path from when he left her to the bridge to Dragonsreach. No opposition was left standing. He hated the girl for getting herself into the situation she found herself in; but he wasn't about to let any of those who opposed him go unpunished for her grievous injury.

For her sake, he hoped his actions would not end up being to avenge her death.

* * *

><p>The Jarl of Whiterun stood in the middle of the great hall at Dragonsreach – vanquished. There was nothing more Balgruuf could do to maintain his hold over the city for the Imperials.<p>

He stood before Galmar Stone-Fist, utterly defeated. As his blade clattered to the ground in front of him in surrender, he mused aloud. "And what of my Thane?" he wondered. "I assumed she would have charged in to overcome me at your side."

"The Breton refused to slaughter your guards," he growled. "You'd best credit her for holding true to her beliefs, for it might now mean her life."

"Does she yet live then?" Balgruuf asked.

"I do not know. But an arrow pierced her chest when I last saw her." Galmar turned and walked away from the disgraced Jarl, leaving the Gray-Manes behind to usurp the throne.

When Galmar exited Dragonsreach, the rains had ceased, as had the battles. What few guards remained in defense of the city had quickly been taken as prisoners of war and were being held in the barracks. Dead bodies littered the streets; the blood of the vanquished running into the formerly clear blue streams that surrounded the Gildergreen. To Marieka's credit, she had convinced Galmar's troops to avoid killing civilians, as there did not appear to be any among the dead.

_She'd be proud_, Galmar thought, wondering if the girl yet lived. He slowly descended the stairs towards the Wind District. Stormcloak rebels saluted him as he passed, though celebrating victory yet did not seem the right thing to do. Marieka had orchestrated so much leading up to this – if she hadn't survived, it would have been a bittersweet victory.

Though why he had concerned himself with her wellbeing was a question he couldn't answer. He'd warned her…told her that she wasn't ready for such a battle. In all fairness though, the arrow that took her down was a cheap shot. It wasn't during battle. She had been unarmed at the time. He almost wished he could have been the one who took out the bastard Imperial sympathizer that shot her.

Galmar sighed. Soon enough he'd find her…and know whether or not she survived. He hoped she was still breathing. He did _not_ wish to be the one to deliver the news to Ulfric otherwise.

When he arrived at the site where he left her, there was a small crowd gathered. He approached the centre of it, finding the priest that had been retrieved earlier. Marieka was lying on the ground; but appeared to be breathing. He summoned the priest to his side for an update.

"She's floating in and out of consciousness," he advised. "We managed to remove the arrow and the bleeding has slowed. I didn't want to move her until we know we've stopped the bleeding completely, but we'll have to get her out of the cold. We should find shelter for her so that she may rest."

"The girl is a Thane here," Galmar replied. "Or at least she was. But that means that she must own a home in the city. I think I know where it is."

He approached her where she lay and knelt by her side. "Breton," he called to her – quieter than his normal voice allowed, yet still louder than he should have.

Her eyelids twitched, as if she attempted to open them.

"Do you hear me girl?"

"Gods, Galmar," she whispered hoarsely without opening her eyes. "Is that you? Of _course_ it's you. Who _else_ is so loud?"

"Do you own a home in Whiterun?" he asked. "The priest says we need to get you inside."

Her head moved slightly in a nod. "By the blacksmith. Near the gate."

"Good," he replied. "I'm tired of looking after you."

Her eyes opened up finally. "I'm just tired…of looking at you."

He smirked at her. "Glad you survived, girl."

"You just didn't…want to have to tell Ulfric," she sputtered. "I don't plan on…letting you outlive me…you old son of a bitch."

He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. "You're not still mad over our little fight earlier, are you?"

She glared up at him, groaning as she shifted on the ground.

"Talos, you can hold a grudge," he grumbled. "You milk drinker."

He looked up to the skies as he felt several rain drops fall upon his arm.

"We need to get you indoors," he said. "And if it hurts, just take it. It'll toughen you up, Breton."

She sneered at him as he stood up and signaled for some help. A few soldiers carefully helped her to her feet, trying to prevent movement in her torso. It was all but impossible however and she groaned in pain with every step she took, despite being assisted heavily.

When they were in view of her home – Breezehome, she called it – they stopped briefly to allow her to readjust herself and rest for a moment. Galmar stood near her, paying close attention to where the wound was situated. It didn't appear to be bleeding still – or perhaps it was just wrapped well. Either way, a better assessment could be made once they were inside. He was just about ask if she was ready to continue, when a commotion at the gate to the city caught his attention.

There was a man attempting to come into the city, but the Stormcloaks were preventing anyone from entering. Galmar couldn't hear what was being said, but there were certainly raised voices. He paid the racket no further mind until the guards began to shout.

"Get back here!"

He turned to see the man running from the guards – none of whom carried ranged weapons. He continued to run until he saw the group of soldiers gathered around the Breton at the door. As his eyes fell upon her, he stopped dead in his tracks and his face transformed.

"Marieka!"

The guards caught up to him and tried to restrain him. She turned weakly to see him and nearly collapsed to the ground.

"Let him go," she protested, but they didn't hear her with her voice as weak as it was. But Galmar heard her.

"Let the man go," he demanded, and the guards complied.

The man immediately rushed towards her. "Marieka, my love," he exclaimed. "What's happened to you?"

Galmar raised an eyebrow at the scene. This would certainly be an interesting development for Ulfric to learn of.

"Brynjolf," she said breathlessly. "I…I…what are you doing here?"

"Apparently confirming that I made the right decision," he replied. He slid himself under one of her arms, dismissing one of the guards from her side. "Let's get you inside."

"Breton," Galmar said loudly. "Breton?"

_Ah. Good to see they are the only two people in Whiterun that appear to matter at the moment._

He grumbled. No matter. He'd find out soon enough who this mystery Nord was. For now, some mead was in order. The Stormcloaks had taken Whiterun. A good enough reason as any to celebrate…


	30. Brynjolf X

**Apparently I'm a bit of a masochist at heart, because as painful as it can be for me to attempt to write smut, I continue to do so. What can I say? I'm a giver. And what can help a girl write some smut? Why listening to Portishead on repeat, of course. I recommend it. As well as checking out this live version of Glory Box… youtu. be/ SLrkE6T_m5Y Beth Gibbons…you **_**also**_** do funny things to me. I think you and Bryn are conspiring against me.**

**I warn you. If smexis turn you off, you should not read any further.**

**I attempted to push my own personal boundaries a bit further than I have before, and have even enlisted the help of a fellow talented writer (I'm looking at you zevgirl) to give this a look see before I unleashed it upon all you, my lovelies. She only looked at part of it, so if some of it feels polished, and other parts not so much, you'll know where she worked her magic. I am partially disturbed with how writing this made me feel. Are you supposed to get turned on by your own writing? Ha ha...so anyway...there you have it. Cold showers all around!**

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><p><em><strong>Brynjolf X<strong>_

_I'm so tired of playing…playing with this bow and arrow  
>Gonna give my heart away…leave it to the other girls to play<br>For I've been a temptress too long  
>Just…<em>

_Give me a reason to love you  
>Give me a reason to be a woman<em>

"_Glory Box", Portishead (Barrow, Gibbons, Utley, Hayes)_

* * *

><p>The floor of Breezehome was sturdy. Brynjolf was thankful for that as he repeatedly paced back and forth across it; struggling to remain calm while the healer was upstairs with Marieka. She hadn't been able to tell him what had happened since he arrived at Whiterun; in fact, she passed into unconsciousness once more shortly after he assisted her upstairs to her room. The healer briefly mentioned something about an arrow wound, but nothing further. He had no idea where…how serious…nothing like that. And so, he paced.<p>

Since he arrived, he spent many long minutes in uncomfortable silence across the room from Marieka's housecarl, Lydia. The very woman she witnessed in bed one night with her former husband. Brynjolf wanted desperately to confront the woman about her 'relationship' with Onmund, but as the other man, it wasn't the easiest conversation to broach. It would be awkward and full of 'look who's talkings'.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye repeatedly – wanting to say something to her. But he couldn't. The woman's glare intimidated him for some strange reason – despite the fact that he was obviously the larger of the two and could take the woman in a fight. Probably, anyhow…

Suddenly she jumped off of the bench she sat on and strode over to him angrily.

"You! You were there the night that bitch played me for a fool in Riften!" The scowl upon her face could have stopped a hagraven in its tracks.

He looked at her with a scowl of his own. "What are you babbling on about?"

"The woman in Riften," she repeated. "With the dark hair and soothing voice."

"You'll have to be a little more specific than that," he smirked. "You're describing half of the city."

"The one who _stole_ my mother's ring!"

He put his hands up in defense. "So if she stole from you, _why_ are you yelling at me about it?"

He did recall her as the woman who had joined Marieka the night he first laid eyes upon her in the Bee and Barb. His memory also extended to vaguely recollecting that Sapphire had been the one to attempt seduction of the Nord who stood in front of him.

She growled loudly and spun around, about to stomp off. She thought better of it though and turned back to face him.

"You have a lot of nerve showing up here."

His eyes widened. "What exactly is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"You're the one that ran poor Onmund off," she replied. "They were happy until you came along, tempting Marieka away from him."

"Oh, they were happy, were they?" he scoffed. "Perhaps _he_ was happy while you fucked him in her home."

Lydia bit her lip, not expecting him to know. But how could he not? Marieka must have confided in him.

"Your nerve knows no bounds then," she said. "You blame me, yet you are just as much of a guilty party for ripping their marriage to shreds."

"Do you even know anything about the two of them?" he asked. "Do you not realize _she saw_ you that night? And it wasn't until after she saw you that she came to me? They were not meant to be. Even without anyone's help, their marriage was doomed."

"You can keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep at night," she said, spinning on her heel and returning to the bench.

He stood dumbfounded. _Is she right? Did I contribute to this more than I want to admit? No…no, it can't be. She wouldn't lie to me about that. Lydia has no idea what she's talking about._ At least, he hoped that were the case.

"Please…keep it down," a voice from the staircase called. The two looked up and saw Marieka's healer standing there. "You are causing her distress and she is attempting to get out of bed to see what the commotion is."

"My apologies, priest," Brynjolf said. "Please tell her everything is fine. She'll not be disturbed by us again."

The man nodded and returned to her room.

Brynjolf approached her where she sat. "Lydia, I think it would be best for you to not stay here while Marieka is in Whiterun. As soon as she has recovered, she'll be leaving for Windhelm and you can return. But your duties as housecarl will not be necessary. I will be here to ensure she is safe."

"But…where will I—"

"Go to the inn. Go to the barracks. I don't care," he interrupted.

"Fine," she replied. "I'll…I'll find something." She was about to head upstairs to begin to pack, but felt compelled to ask him something. "She could have killed me when she arrived here. At the very least, she could have told me to fight. But she sent me here…to protect me. Why? After everything that happened…why did she protect me?"

"She's not that kind of person," he replied. "She's forgiven you."

She nodded slowly and turned around, walking towards the stairs.

"I, on the other hand," he continued, "am not so forgiving."

She stopped for a moment as he spoke, but did not face him. She continued up the stairs to retrieve her things. When she returned, Brynjolf stood at the front of the room, refusing to look in her direction as she left the home. As the door closed behind her, he sighed. The woman didn't deserve Marieka's forgiveness, just as he didn't deserve Onmund's.

But all that mattered now was Marieka and her recovery. And he would see that it wasn't disturbed by anyone.

* * *

><p>As the days passed by, Marieka's recovery from her wound was progressing well. The healer cut his visits back to every other day and she had been more mobile as well. Brynjolf had never felt happier about making the decision to come to Whiterun than he had in these past few days. He was glad to be there by her side, helping her in regaining her strength and making sure she was as comfortable as she could be.<p>

That day had been one where the healer came to check up on her. While the priest was there, Brynjolf decided to fetch some supplies from the general store. The city was well on its way to returning to some level of normalcy after the battle had taken place the week prior. The Plains District was almost completely recovered, only some buildings showing damage. Its recovery seemed to occur at the same rate as Marieka's.

He returned to Breezehome just as the priest descended the stairs.

"How is she doing?" he asked.

"Very well," the healer said. "Our efforts to close the wound suitably and fend off infection have all been successful. I am no longer recommending she stay in bed. She's certainly welcome to resume normal activity. But I wouldn't endorse her traveling or fighting for a while longer."

Brynjolf nodded at the man. "Of course. I'll make sure that she behaves herself."

"You do that," he replied. "Marieka is a bit feisty, and is bored to tears from being inside for so long. She could probably do with a walk today."

"Thank you for everything you've done for her," he said.

The priest nodded and left Brynjolf alone with a smile upon his face. He considered how excited she must be to not have to stay in bed any longer.

He ran up the stairs to the bedroom, taking two steps at a time.

"Marieka!" he called out. "I heard the wonderful news! Would you like—what exactly are you doing?"

He was greeted by the sight of her placing new linens on the bed. He saw the old ones in a pile on the floor.

"This isn't the time for chores, love," he advised her.

"I had to," she insisted. "The linens were starting to smell."

He laughed and leaned upon the dresser as he watched her. "Well then, by all means."

She looked at him and furrowed her brow. "Not even going to offer to help then?"

"I didn't want to interrupt," he replied. "Besides, you'll be leaning over to fold the linens into the frame soon, and I'd prefer to have this wonderful view of your backside."

She looked over her shoulder at him and grinned. "Flatterer." She stopped preparing the bed and sat on the end of it.

"So, the priest said your wound is completely closed now," he said.

She nodded. "Want to see? They did quite a good job. You can hardly see the mark unless you know where to look."

He stood up and sat next to her. As she pulled her tunic up to expose the new scar, she leaned back a bit to give him a better angle to see it. She was right – it was impressive work that the healer had done. He could see only a small raised area of scar tissue over her rib cage. He briefly ran his thumb over the area and she shivered for a moment.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked.

She shook her head. "It's just…been a while since I've felt your touch, Bryn."

He didn't know if she loaded the statement with desire or need, but he immediately felt both when she said the words. The full week leading up to that statement had been blissful torment; being so deliciously close to her, yet unable to act on his more explicit thoughts for fear of delaying her recovery from her injury. And they _were_ explicit. He knew she felt the pain of the distance they were forced to keep as well, for her pulse increased every time he was close to her. Several nights saw him downstairs in the home, creating potions of all things – just to try to keep his mind off what he so desperately wanted to do. The gods tormented him so by placing Marieka in his reach, only to prevent him from joining with her completely.

He spun off of the bed, landing at the end of it; on his knees and in front of her. Placing his hands on her hips, he pulled her closer to the edge of the bed. She still held the tunic up above the scars and he proceeded to help it completely off of her. Her partial state of undress caused him to become aroused instantaneously. He examined her for the other scars that marred her pale skin. Mar was subjective though, for he loved her every imperfection as much as the bits that weren't permanently marked. They were badges of honour...they proved she was human. Made him feel like he should be there to protect her. He ran his fingers along the scar left there by Mercer Frey. It reminded him that together they extinguished his memory from staining the Guild any longer.

Brynjolf moved his mouth towards the scar, tenderly kissing along the line of it. Her head fell backwards as she exhaled roughly. His hands moved to her waist, wrapping his fingers around to her back as he moved to kiss the new scar from the arrow wound gently. She breathed in sharply as his lips touched the blemish, and his fingers were causing her skin to tingle.

When her hands tangled into his hair, he lifted himself from the ground and pushed her back gently on to the bed, positioning himself above her. She quickly moved her hands down his body and they found themselves under his shirt, caressing his skin as he hovered above her. When he let his body press against hers on the bed, she felt evidence of his want for her unyielding against her thigh. Her mouth fell open as she let loose a small cry in response. He looked into her eyes, cupping her cheek and smiling before pressing his lips to hers possessively. He was once again claiming her for his own, for she had long ago stolen all of him for herself.

As his tongue found its way into her mouth, the hand that caressed her face began to move along her neck, sweeping lines across her throat. His fingertips played upon her shoulder….her chest…drawing great swirled patterns around her breast…teasing her as he brushed them across her nipple lightly until he felt it stiffen in response to his touch. He kissed along her jaw line; breaking away to trace a line from her earlobe down her neck to her collarbone with his tongue. She began to squirm from the careful attention he paid her.

When his mouth was nearly close enough to claim her breast as its own, he cupped it in his hand, gently squeezing and plying upwards. He attentively swirled his tongue around her breast, only closing his mouth over the peak when he had devoted enough time to the rest. He heard her moan his name and the throaty vocalization prompted him to suck at her breast, pressing his mouth and face into her skin. He felt one of her hands tightly grip the hair at the back of his head, encouraging him to continue.

Instead, he pulled away from her, half kneeling on the edge of the bed...half standing upright, looking down upon her.

"Brynjolf, please...don't tease me," she begged him. Her voice held desperation, influenced heavily by yet another near-death experience.

Eyes locked together, and his dry mouth let out a husky rasp when he spoke to her. "I wouldn't think of doing that to you now." His fingers immediately traveled to the waist of her loosely tied trousers, latching on to the silky fabric of the binding and tugging it until it fell slack.

Despite his cool exterior, she never failed to cause him anxiety that he thankfully managed to internalize. It manifested itself in trembling fingers and hesitant breaths as he attempted to slide his shirt up and over his head in a fluid motion. The fabric caught on his wrist and he tugged at it awkwardly, but she failed to notice his gaffe as she stared luridly at his now-exposed chest. She attempted to sit up to reach for him, but he placed his hand upon her stomach, holding her down. The fingers of his free hand slipped along the inside of her waistband and he slowly began to pull the trousers from her skin. His other hand joined in, slipping under her and sliding along her bottom. She squealed as his fingertips slid in between her legs from behind and brushed across her, forcing a gasp from her lips.

Watching her wriggle in front of him caused him to unconsciously run his tongue along his lower lip. Her eyes were drawn to his mouth to watch his unwittingly seductive action until she bit her own lip in response. He continued to slowly slide the trousers from her legs, extending them until her feet were resting upon his chest. When he tossed the trousers aside, he refused to drop her legs back down, running his fingers along the soles of her feet. It caused her leg to spasm; she nearly kicked him in the face, yet he did not relent.

"Bryn!" she squeaked. "That tickles!"

He merely looked down at her and smiled, before placing a soft kiss at her ankle. He gently closed his hands around both of her calves and left a trail of kisses towards the bends at her knees. His hands moved along her legs, following his mouth and one of them ran across a rough patch. He peered at her leg, discovering a new scar from yet another wound as his chest tightened from the thought of her being injured again. He kissed the scar as he did with all the others; to let her know he adored every part of her.

Returning his attention to the back of her legs, he continued to hold them up in the air; brushing his lips down her thighs. She quivered in anticipation of where those lips were taking him. He knelt on the ground in front of the bed, pulling her closer to him. His warm breath moved further along her thighs, followed closely by hands, tracing soft lines along the length of her legs. If she missed his touch at the beginning of this all, she soon wouldn't. He would make certain she had her fill of him and would not be left wanting for anything.

Just as his fingertips probed dangerously close to her centre, he pulled them all away abruptly, eliciting a whimper from her. But she quickly sucked in air, holding her breath when he parted her legs slightly and folded one leg over his shoulder. Her hand flew to her mouth and she bit her fingertip when she caught his eye, seeing the devilish grin that had appeared upon his face. Her other leg was soon resting upon the opposite shoulder and he was moving in for the proverbial kill. She felt the heat from his breath on her slick skin before she felt his tongue, and it sent her over the edge in expectation. The moment she felt it though, her hands whipped down to her sides; her fingers seizing hold of the linens on the bed. He tirelessly..._repeatedly_...lapped at her with long, meticulous strokes. He felt her thighs squeeze together, gripping his head in place. His name escaped from her lips once again; her voice dry and gasping. She continued to grip the linens, holding on to them as if her very life depended upon it.

Suddenly, one..._no, two_ fingers slipped into her. Brynjolf felt her tighten around them as they explored her. He slowly slid them in and out of her, deeper still when her reaction called for it. He felt her pushing into his hand, writhing in her ecstasy. While he took the lead, she still managed to guide him where she wanted to be touched...just how deeply _she_ wanted to feel him.

"Oh...fuck, Bryn..." she moaned.

He looked up towards her mischievously. "Whatever you say, my love..."

When he increased the intensity of everything he was doing, she squirmed uncontrollably, her back arching upwards. She groaned in some strange mixture of pain and bliss, causing him momentary concern over her injury. He stopped moving for a second, trying to see if she had aggravated her wound.

"Gods, Bryn...don't stop!"

And he complied.

His mouth and hands had her worked into a frenzy. Her voice cracked as she eagerly coaxed him on, begging for more and _gods, yes...that's the spot_ and _faster, Bryn_ until she could no longer hold back her scream of delight over where he had sent her. She existed on another plane at that moment and when she hurdled back to Nirn, he was there to catch her. He thought her exhausted from the release she had just experienced, but her hands eagerly clasped at the sides of his face as she manoeuvred her legs off of his shoulders and back to the surface of the bed.

When he moved from kneeling on the floor to stand up, she pulled herself up to stand with him. She brought his face towards her and kissed him swiftly, swirling her tongue into his mouth and tasting them both. She ran her tongue along her teeth when she let go of him, stepping back. He watched her eyes as they looked him up and down. The gap between them closed yet again and Brynjolf couldn't help but notice the predatory way she was eyeing him when she reached for the waist of his trousers. She walked him backwards until he was up against the wall.

Once more, their eyes met. "I know I'll have to leave you again," she whispered, her fingers working at the knot that fastened his trousers. "And while I don't want to..." – she kissed his chest – "...I have made a commitment to Ulfric and his rebellion." She pulled the knot free finally and began to loosen the ties. "So I think it's only fair..." – she kissed his stomach –"...that I give you the benefit of your own commitment from me." She eased his trousers over his hips and down his legs, taking his underclothes with them. He stepped out of his clothes, kicking them to the side as she ran her fingers along his thighs and up to his waist. "I promise you that whenever I leave you..." – her hands meandered to the small of his back – "...for _whatever_ reason..." – then to his hips – "...that I will always make it up to you when I return." She fell to her knees in front of him and looked up. "I will make you forget that I was ever gone from your side."

His eyes widened as he watched her tiny fingers encircle him, applying pressure to his own hardness. He took a deep breath, bracing himself against the wall. His breath came out in spurts when he first felt the moisture from her tongue; his hands clenching into fists from the warmth of her mouth. She moved timidly at first; unsure of herself. But as he reacted, she became more deliberate...more focused. As his head lolled back, his hand tangled into her hair. Her motion measured a familiar rhythm as she swirled her tongue around him, causing him to nearly lose balance.

His eyes closed; his breath came faster now. He felt the stone of the wall behind him scraping his skin as he pushed up against it, desperate for its support. The surprise of what was happening to him was quickly leaving him; instead his mind was overwhelmed by churning thoughts and his body was racked with tremors. He looked back down at her and a groan escaped him, causing her to look up. She pulled away for a moment to let him see the devilish smile upon her lips before she continued her attentions. She held on to the back of his thighs, fingernails digging into his skin. He gripped the edge of the desk he stood next to, forcing himself to remain upright.

_Gods Marieka! Where did you come from? Who sent you to me? Where did you learn to—?_

"Ungh!"

His entire body shuddered and he caught her eye again.

"Marieka...I...I can't stand any longer."

She slowly – torturously slow – pulled her mouth from him and smiled. "Perhaps you would be more comfortable on the bed, love."

She stood, taking his fingers in hers and looking over her shoulder at him as she led him there. The look in her eye was pure lust, but it wasn't until she climbed on to the bed – crawling across it on hands and knees – that Brynjolf lost every ounce of self-control. He reached for her hips and pounced at her. She did not expect the motion and flopped on her side, collapsing into a fit of laughter.

"So much for my attempts at being enticing," she giggled.

He leaned forward, his mouth at her ear. "Mari, you have _no_ idea what you're doing to me," he mumbled.

"Mari? Hmm, I _like_ that."

He settled in behind her, stretching one arm under his head wrapping the other around her. "It was either that or Reika."

"Oh, now _that's_ not bad either," she teased. "I'm sorry, Bryn. I'm really failing at this whole being sexy thing."

He pulled her hips backwards, pressing his pelvis into her as he slipped between her thighs. "I beg to differ."

She gasped at the intrusion, but pressed back. His length was insistent upon her backside, causing her back to arch. He manoeuvred himself down the bed behind her, lifting her leg slightly and pushing gently until she yielded. He entered her in a single motion and continued to rock his hips back and forth. His free hand teased her neck and shoulder for a moment before moving down her body and resting upon her breast. When he delicately squeezed her, she moaned in response causing him to smile. He pressed kisses along her shoulder blade, feeling her shudder as his warm breath ghosted across her back. He moved his hand lower, pulling her back until she was flush against his chest. The contact was overwhelming; he buried his face in the crook of her neck, reveling in her scent.

As he nipped at her ear, she sucked in a breath.

"I want to look at you," she expelled breathlessly. She rolled away from him and quickly flipped back. When she put her hand on his shoulder to push him on to his back, Brynjolf reached for her and pulled her on top of him. She straddled him, carefully letting him enter her once more. She raked her fingertips down his chest as she sat upright, rolling her hips into his.

Her movements were slow. Seductive. Carnal. She gazed at him with a faraway look in her eye and gave him a coquettish grin. He broke the gaze for only a moment when his fingers ran across the mark left by the arrow. As he looked back at her, he made her a promise.

"I'll never let anything like that happen to you again."

She leaned forward, pressing her breasts to his chest and continued to rock into him.

"Bryn, you can't always be there to protect me," she said, panting interrupting her words.

He wrapped his arms behind her back, moving in sync with her. "I can certainly try though." He saw her smile out of the corner of his eye and turned to kiss her cheek. But she caught his movement and her lips met his instead. They stayed locked together for long moments rocking as one until he could no longer hold back. He released into her and she squeezed around him tightly. He didn't know when it happened, but when he came back to reality, her head was resting on his shoulder and her breathing had begun to return to normal.

Eventually, she slid to the side of him, leaving an arm and leg to sprawl across his body.

"In hindsight," she mused, "putting new linens on the bed probably could have waited."

He chuckled. "Oh Marieka. You never fail to amuse me."

She touched his nose gently with her pointed finger. "And _that_ is why you keep me around."

"Can I?" he asked. "Can I keep you around?"

"Eventually."

They laid in the comfort of each other's quiet breaths for some time. His eyes closed as peace settled over him. Instinctively, his hand traveled up her back and as was becoming a habit for him, brushed through her hair lightly.

"I've a question," he suddenly said.

"Hmm?"

"Would you ever consider putting on that Amulet of Mara again?"

A few seconds passed like an eternity before she answered. "No. Why do you ask?"

He looked towards her, trying to hide his disappointment. "Oh. I suppose I was only wondering."

"I just don't see the sense in it." She looked at him; her eyes sparkled. He didn't know what her expression was telling him.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You're disappointed."

"No!" he exclaimed. He furrowed his brow. "Well, maybe a little."

"I don't know why," she replied. "The amulet is to be worn when you want to tell the world that you are open to the idea of marriage. I don't need to do that. I don't care what the world thinks. There's only one man whose opinion I'm interested in."

"Are you saying you'd consider marrying me?"

"Yes," she replied. "In fact, I've already considered that."

He smiled, but then his face straightened again. "Wait. What did you decide?"

"Not today."

"But someday, perhaps?" He looked hopeful.

She nodded. "Someday."

He squeezed her, kissing her lips. "That's good enough for me."

"It'll have to be, won't it?"

"Well, aren't you a smart arse!" He reached down and smacked her bottom.

She pushed herself up to rest on his chest and stared him down. "Brynjolf, you need not worry about such trivial things. An amulet to tell the man I love that I love him? That I'm willing to spend my life with him? Do I even need to profess to Mara my feelings for him?"

He looked away from her, but she took his chin in her hand, forcing him to return his eyes to her.

"I don't need either of those things. You have me. I love you, and from what I can tell, the feeling is mutual. I am all yours. What more do you need?"

He took her hand, kissing the back of it lightly before bringing it to his chest above his heart. "I need nothing more, love."

She smiled finally. "Now kiss me, Nord. I feel an aching in my heart and a stirring in your loins."

"As you wish, Breton."

He rolled on top of her and kissed her again, realizing she was right about two things that day: there _was_ a stirring in his loins. And she was most definitely all his.


	31. Ulfric Stormcloak III

**I can't help but picture that there might be a bit of posturing that happens when… *ahem* …certain Nords meet. The result is this chapter. So much anger here. I must have had a bad weekend…sorry about that…**

**Oh, since I haven't done this for awhile... [insert standard disclaimer here]**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Ulfric Stormcloak III<strong>_

Word of the Stormcloak victory at Whiterun had long since reached Ulfric's ear before Galmar returned to Windhelm. Though when his second-in-command entered the Palace of the Kings, he fully expected to see Marieka at his side. There was more work to do, and the Breton had quickly become invaluable for matters that required a more subtle touch. Sneaking, forgery…matters of secrecy tended to be her forte and many of his soldiers were a little too blatant to carry out certain of his needs. By Talos, Galmar was probably the loudest man he'd ever met.

But for all his want to send her off on another mission, she had not returned. At least, not yet.

As Galmar approached the throne, Ulfric stood up and motioned for him to enter the war room. There was strategizing to do and updates to be had. None of which needed to meet the ears of overzealous guards. He followed his second into the room and leaned heavily on the table.

"The scouts arrived with news of Whiterun almost a week ago, and yet you only arrive this day, Galmar. What is the meaning of that?"

"There were…complications," he replied.

Ulfric scratched at his chin. "Would one of those complications have been the Breton who is suspiciously absent from this meeting?"

Galmar straightened himself and broke Ulfric's gaze. "She was one of them."

He sighed and stood up from the table, turning to look out the window. The winds had begun to kick up the snow again, causing near whiteout conditions. True Nords never worried about the cold or the snow; in fact, they prayed for it during times of war. It provided them with an advantage over their enemies, and each time the storms came to the battlefield, the Nords knew they were favoured by the gods. Perhaps this was a sign of good tidings for the Stormcloaks.

When he turned back around and faced Galmar, the man stood frozen, as if unsure of what to tell him.

"Do you have nothing to say, Galmar?"

"The wee Breton took an arrow to the chest in Whiterun," he grumbled. "She lives, but…"

Ulfric's eyes narrowed. "But?"

"She refused to fight against the guards."

"Oh? And what reason did she give?" he asked.

"She said they were not her enemy," he replied. "They were not of the Empire."

"Do you believe she will refuse to fight an Imperial?"

Galmar hesitated for a moment. "No. She just didn't believe that the guards in Whiterun fought for either side. They just defended their homes."

"I see," Ulfric replied, uncertain of what to make of her actions. "And where is she? I wish to speak to her about her…decision."

"Recovering from her wounds in the city," he replied. "I suspect she did not tell you she had a home there. That she was made Thane by Balgruuf?"

"I knew neither of these things," he replied, raising an eyebrow. "Though, now so much of what she said when we last spoke makes sense now." He looked down at the map outlining where his troops were situated.

"She…keeps the company of a Nord."

Ulfric looked up at him. "Why are you telling me this?"

"You are usually interested in the lives of your closer…advisors," Galmar said with a shrug. "I thought you might like to know that."

"Are you implying something about the Breton?" Ulfric's posture changed to the defensive.

"I know that you rarely take women on as advisors," the older man growled. "You might bed them, but—"

"Bite your tongue, Galmar," he warned. "You may regret your next words."

"The men talk, Ulfric," he said. "Did you think it wise to allow this woman…this _Breton_ woman…into your court and counsel? Need I remind you of Markarth?"

"She is no Forsworn hedge witch!" Ulfric bellowed. "And in any case, you told me that you respected her."

"I do," he replied. "She is strong of conviction. And I have to admit, having powerful magic at our side is an advantage I'm surprised we haven't used more often."

"Then what is the problem?"

"Have you ever asked yourself what her intentions are? Why she – a Breton – is fighting for the Stormcloaks?" Galmar asked. "We're not exactly welcoming foreigners with open arms, Ulfric."

"And I've treated her with nothing but respect since she joined us," he snarled. "You know what we fight for Galmar! I refuse to let those damned elves do to Skyrim what they did to Cyrodiil. But I will not refuse the assistance of a foreigner should they choose to fight for us. Breton or Mer alike. Of course I'm not as trusting of the Mer…after what those fucking Thalmor put me through. But Mer does not always equal Thalmor. You'd do well to remember that."

Galmar looked at him with indifference. "The Breton is an asset to us, yes. But I am still uncertain of—"

"I'll hear no more of your _concerns_ about the Breton, Galmar," he interrupted. "This conversation is over." He pushed his way past the table and Galmar reached for his arm, stopping him in his tracks. "Unhand me!"

But Galmar refused to release his arm. "Ulfric, you _must_ learn more about this girl before you continue to place your trust in her. As a soldier, she is fine, but if you insist on keeping her counsel…"

He pulled away from the man roughly, angered that his second-in-command would dare question his decisions in that manner. But Galmar's words stung with some truth. How much _did_ he really know about this girl who he seemed to be sending on pivotal missions more often than not? As he stomped through the halls and corridors towards his quarters, he considered the questions he would ask her when she returned. _If_ she returned. If she was as injured as Galmar suggested, perhaps that would be the end of her interest in the rebellion.

Somehow though, Ulfric didn't believe this would be the last he heard of Marieka.

* * *

><p>In the days that followed, any exchange between Ulfric and Galmar was cold and business-like. They barely spoke on account of the stubbornness that both men shared. Ulfric was still angry at the man's insistence that he was…what? <em>Infatuated<em> with the girl? _Please…_ If anything, she was infatuated with him…as many women were. They craved the attention from a man with his power…with the respect that he demanded. But then, she didn't seem to need that kind of attention from him. Marieka seemed to look to him for…something else… What was it that she sought?

It figured that it was yet another woman that caused the rift between the two men. The last argument they had was when Galmar found it necessary to bring a whore into the palace to…take Ulfric's mind off of some things. He didn't appreciate the insinuation that his troubles could be solved by sex. His troubles were, after all, the troubles of Skyrim and he desperately wanted this civil war to reach its conclusion – with the Stormcloaks as victors. The Imperials had been winning many small battles, but the taking of Whiterun was important. It galvanized so many of his troops…brought him and the entire rebellion the boost in morale that they needed.

According to Galmar, Marieka was the one who managed to open the gates to the city. She rallied the troops – but requested that they not slay innocents. Noble, perhaps. A little misguided, maybe? Either way, with the news that she was Thane to Balgruuf, it would seem that the people of Whiterun respected her, save for the individual that shot her in the chest. Galmar had also mentioned that guard had been unceremoniously dispatched of by several rebels. Ulfric's men _liked_ Marieka. There was something about her that gave her the quality of a leader…albeit a reluctant one.

And he had yet to discuss the matter of the shouts with her.

Ulfric sat at the head of the long table in the palace, picking over a piece of bread that had long since gone hard. Jorleif sat next to him, sipping at some water and eyeing him cautiously. His mood had been explosive in the days following Galmar's return – a shock considering the victory at Whiterun. But then, most were unaware of certain discussions the Jarl had with his second.

"Jorleif," Ulfric suddenly said. "I tire of the palace. I wish to take a stroll through the city."

"Shall I fetch you Galmar, my Jarl?" the steward asked.

"Gods, no!" he exclaimed. "Or have you not sensed the tension that exists between us these past days? No, find me Yrsarald. He can accompany me."

Jorleif stood up and nodded politely. "Of course."

He disappeared for a few minutes, but returned quickly with Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced at his heel. As they entered the hall, Ulfric stood and began to walk towards the door. The large Nord he summoned, followed him.

When they exited the palace, Ulfric looked around, the bright sky blinding him after being in the dimly lit throne room for much of the day. The snow fell gently, blanketing the city with a light dusting, causing it to appear soft and clean – unlike the stark appearance of the cold stone below it. He could see recent footprints from the palace door leading to the steps – already being hidden by new snow falling. There was a warmth to the air; the clouds above containing the heat expelled by the ground below, despite the temperatures being cold enough for the snow to accumulate.

Somewhere in the distance, children's laughter sounded. It put a glimpse of a smile on Ulfric's face, as he thought back to his own childhood. This weather was always perfect for a good snowball fight with his father. How he missed the man. He wondered what he'd have thought of him now – leading his rebellion against the oppression of the Empire…puppets of the Thalmor. The very ones responsible for his death. He grimaced as he once again thought of the circumstances that surrounded the death…being locked away by the Forsworn. He stopped suddenly, looking down at his hands that had balled into fists. He shook his head for a moment.

"Jarl Ulfric?"

He turned to see Yrsarald's concerned glance. "It is nothing. Merely bad memories."

The man nodded and allowed Ulfric to continue walking in silence. He appreciated Yrsarald as a minder; the man never interfered with his steps or his thoughts, but was always at the ready to defend him should he require it. Not that he did within the walls of Windhelm. It was generally a safe place for the Jarl to venture. The people politely nodded, generally showing respect. Even the elves and other folk not native to the city. Though he often wondered if the respect had been garnered out of fear rather than admiration.

_Enough! These thoughts lead me nowhere…_

He turned towards the market near Candlehearth Hall, hearing the great gates of the city beginning to open. As he continued in front of the hall, he glanced sideways at the gate and watched as two figures entered the city. Paying them no mind, he continued on. At least until a voice called out for him.

"Ulfric!"

He turned back to see the two approaching him. Yrsarald stepped up, hand upon the hilt of his sword. As Ulfric recognized one of the two, he placed a hand on the man's arm and motioned for him to stand down.

"Marieka," he said. "It is _very _good to see you."

She smiled at him warmly. "I trust you have heard of the Stormcloak victory at Whiterun."

"A victory that I'm told you were quite instrumental in."

She shook her head. "I wouldn't say that at all."

"The troops wouldn't have made it into the city without your help at the gates," Ulfric reminded her.

"I suppose," she said. "However, I did not fare as well as I'd hoped to."

"Galmar advised me you were injured," he replied. "Near death?"

"Perhaps," she said nonchalantly. "There are some talented healers in Whiterun."

Ulfric was about to respond, but couldn't help but notice the rather large, glaring Nord standing to her left. His stance was defensive…protective even.

"We should speak on the battle at a later time," he said. "But perhaps you might introduce me to your companion here."

"Oh goodness!" she exclaimed. "I apologize to both of you for being so rude. Ulfric, this is Brynjolf. My…" She looked at the man with a coy smile and his hardened expression faltered a little when he looked at her, but he quickly returned it to the stone-face he displayed seconds before.

"Ulfric." Brynjolf nodded at him. "I've heard much about you."

"All good, I'm sure," Ulfric said with a chuckle. "Though, I apologize that I do not know much of you. I only assume that you are the man Galmar referred to upon his return."

The two looked at each other before Marieka returned her gaze towards Ulfric. "Just what did Galmar say?"

"Not enough in some regards…too much in others," he replied.

"Dare I even ask?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

Ulfric shook his head. "Do not think on it any further. Galmar and I have nearly come to blows several times in the past few days. He is…troubled over how I choose to strategize and the like."

"I see," she replied. She looked at him with a wary eye, but he brushed it off immediately.

He glanced back at Brynjolf, whose eyes had barely left him. He watched him suspiciously, and Ulfric was uncertain of how to read his look.

"I had thought on heading to the market this afternoon, but a sudden chill has caught me," he said. "Had you planned on visiting the Palace of the Kings this day?"

"We had," she replied.

"We?" Ulfric questioned.

Her mouth fell open slightly. "Would it…not be suitable for my companion to join me?"

"While I trust your judgement Marieka," he began, "this is a time of war."

She straightened up, incensed at his implication, but Brynjolf put his hand upon her shoulder to calm her. "Mari, it's fine. I'll busy myself in the marketplace. Find my way around this _fine_ city."

She turned to face him, taking hold of his hand. "Are you sure? I…don't know how long this will take."

"Yes," he said with a reassuring smile. "Go. Handle your business." He glanced in Ulfric's direction as he moved towards her, placing a hand at her cheek and kissing her deeply. He held her for longer than was necessary to make a point to the man; it was quite evident that she belonged to him – at least some part of her anyhow.

When they pulled apart, she had a smile upon her face. They separated, but she did not let go of his hand or break his gaze until the last moment. At the moment she turned to face where Ulfric stood, Brynjolf's piercing gaze returned once more to him.

"Farewell Nord," Ulfric called. "I suspect we shall speak later."

He did not respond, but watched as Ulfric stepped past her and placed his hand at her back, ushering her ahead. He could almost feel Brynjolf's eyes boring holes into the back of his head.

"Quite an interesting friend you have there, Marieka."

She smiled and remained quiet.

"What did you say he was to you again?" Ulfric pried.

"I didn't."

"Well, then permit me to be so bold to ask what he is to you then," he said bluntly.

"Must I explain it to you?" she asked.

"Are the two of you married?"

She shook her head. "We are not."

"Why not?"

"Ulfric!" she exclaimed. "Really?"

He stopped and grabbed hold of her arm, turning her to face him. "Marieka, if you are to be an advisor to me in this time of war, I need to know I can trust you. And that includes being able to trust those you associate with."

Her face soured briefly. "I have not asked to be an advisor to you. I am here to serve the Stormcloak cause. Whatever happens beyond that is on you. Do not promote my worth to new heights, only to inform me that I must meet some…new standards that change at your whim." She looked down at his hand on her arm. "And if you don't mind terribly, I'd appreciate if you'd unhand me."

He refused her request. "How dare you speak to me that way!" His grip tightened and she yelped in response.

"Damn it, Ulfric…that hurts to Oblivion!" She pushed his shoulder with her free hand, prompting Yrsarald to step up to the pair. "What's gotten into you?" Suddenly he released her and stepped back.

"Marieka, I…am sorry," he said. He reached for his forehead, squeezing at his temples. "I have been letting my anger get the best of me these days."

"Is that why you've been at odds with Galmar?" she asked. "He is your most trusted officer. You cannot afford to be arguing with the war dancing around you."

"No," he replied. "It is _because_ of Galmar that I have been so angry."

She shifted uncomfortably. "Please tell me I'm not at the foundation of this argument."

He heaved a sigh. "You are quite central to it."

"I'm sorry, Ulfric," she apologized. "But I couldn't bring myself to fight against my people."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "It's not that. Not at all. Though, as you bring it up, I trust we will not have that issue when we come across Imperial forces?"

"Absolutely not," she replied. "I will have no qualms about ending them."

He smiled. "Good. That reassures me that I have made the right decision with you."

"Then what has the argument been about?" she prompted.

"Galmar thinks me mad for trusting you blindly."

"_I_ think you mad for doing so!" she exclaimed. "I understand you sent me on a quest to prove my allegiance, but really…any Imperial spy could have completed it all the same and returned to you."

"You think too much like Galmar," he grumbled, causing a smile to spread across her face.

"That old bastard was quite instrumental in saving my life," she said. "But I wouldn't recommend that you remind him of that."

"I'll keep your secret, Breton," he said. "Humour aside, it is important that I learn more about you. Your motives, in particular."

"Of course," she replied. "What do you wish to know?"

"What happened to you?" he asked. "What did the Imperials do to you?"

He saw her swallow hard and the smile left her face. After some hesitation, she responded. "I…will tell you. But not here. And," she said, looking at Yrsarald, "in private."

He turned to Yrsarald. "Thank you, my friend, for accompanying me today on my walk. Feel free to return to the palace." The man nodded and headed off.

"Would you feel comfortable telling me the story in my private quarters? There will be no eavesdropping ears there," he advised.

She bit her lip tentatively. "Yes…I…I suppose that would be suitable."

"Then let us be off," he replied. "The wind has picked up and is biting me through my clothing. I require more furs in order to think straight."

When they entered the palace, Ulfric looked around, but saw no sign of Galmar. It was a good thing, for he wished to hear Marieka's story prior to confronting the man once more. He advised Jorleif that he was not to be disturbed and led the Breton through the winding corridors and up to his quarters.

Once inside his room, he closed the door behind her and saw her begin to look around.

"This is much nicer than the quarters of some of the other Jarls. Simple and comfortable," she said approvingly.

"You spend a lot of time in the quarters of other Jarls?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh," she said, frowning. "I didn't realize how that was going to sound before I said it. The implications aren't good any way you look at it."

He chuckled. "Don't worry, Marieka. I'll think no less of you for it. Please...have a seat," he said, motioning towards a small sitting area with several large chairs and a settee. She fulfilled his request and sat on one end of the long seat, waiting for him to join her. "May I pour you some wine?"

"No, thank you," she said quickly. He nodded and then poured himself a goblet full. "On second thought, perhaps I would like some. Rehashing this story is never easy."

He smiled at her and poured her some as well, bringing both goblets with him as he approached her. As he sat down, he handed her one of the goblets and held his in the air.

"To further Stormcloak victory. To Skyrim. And to you Marieka, that you have returned to us once more," he declared.

She smiled and toasted with him, but her face quickly sobered.

"So, this tale of yours is...troubling?" he asked.

She nodded, pulling a fur around her shoulders. "It is not one I tell often. But I suppose that I do owe you an explanation for why I agreed to your cause," she replied. "And I trust you enough to tell you."

A twinge hit his gut at her admission. After all, he was compelling her to tell this story – not because _he_ didn't trust her, but because Galmar wasn't certain. Or was it something else? Was it just that he wanted to know more about this woman? He admitted to himself long ago that she intrigued him enough to cross him mind more often than she should. Was it simply because of how many unknowns she represented?

"Please Marieka," he advised her. "Take your time. If it is difficult, know that I will sympathize."

She feebly smiled at him. His words were nothing if not reassuring. At first, she opened her mouth to begin speaking, but no words came out. Her mouth was dry and her chest tight; she gulped from the goblet, wishing for liquid courage to come from the wine. He sensed her trouble and placed a hand gently over hers, giving her a look of encouragement.

Finally, she garnered the nerve to say something. "This was so much easier when I told..."

She didn't finish her statement, but Ulfric suspected he knew of whom she spoke. He wasn't sure what to make of the man from his brief encounter, but there was something he couldn't put out of his mind.

"Your friend...Brynjolf," he began. "I cannot put my finger on it, but I recognize him."

"Oh? Where could you recognize him from?" she asked. She shifted in her seat...nervously?

"I'm not certain," he replied. "Perhaps he just has the common look of a Nord. But I think I've encountered him before. In any case...please. Your story."

She swallowed hard. "Of course," she said. She began to recount her tale of the night that she encountered the Imperial soldiers in Wayrest. The night that one of them attacked her...assaulted her...nearly killed her. And how she was kidnapped...imprisoned for weeks. Beaten repeatedly. Ulfric felt his throat tighten as he thought of his own days in captivity in Markarth...and before then, when the damned Thalmor kept him for interrogation for so long. He knew what it was like to feel that there was no hope. That the rest of one's days would be spent trapped in a cage at the mercy and whims of another. He felt for her; finally understood exactly why she was compelled to join his Stormcloak rebellion. Her reasons for bringing down the Empire may have been different from his own, but they were more than proof that her interest was genuine. He no longer doubted anything about the Breton.

She stared straight ahead, taking a gulp of wine. He could see her eyes were watery as she attempted to blink it away. As a stray tear fell, he reached out impulsively to wipe it from her cheek. She jumped in her seat, startled by his touch. Her hand flew to her cheek, wiping at her eye with her fingertips.

"I'm...sorry," he said quietly. "What you went through was terrible. We will hunt them together. And should you ever find those that wronged you, we will drive our blades through them together. I promise you...they'll pay for what they did to you."

She couldn't help but smile through her tears at his sudden expression of enthusiasm.

"Thank you, Ulfric," she said. "That means a lot to me. That you would have me fight at your side."

"I would," he replied. Their eyes met and locked for several slow moments. Some strange connection had been forged, and he was not entirely sure what it meant or what it was, but did not fight it all the same.

"Perhaps I've not yet recovered from my wound. This wine has gone straight to my head," she suddenly interrupted, looking away and taking a hard breath.

He subtly shifted away from her, wondering how he ended up so close to her in the first place.

"Yes," he began, "how are you, by the way? Galmar said the arrow pierced your chest."

She touched her ribcage gently, pointing to where it struck her. "Here actually. But really, I'm fine Ulfric. I'm tougher than I look."

"Evidently," he said, smiling at her. "It would have been a dark day had you fallen, Marieka."

She looked down with a wistful smile.

"And your Nord showed up after Whiterun was taken then?"

"I...yes. He did," she replied.

"Tell me about him," he said.

She looked at him uncertainly, unable to tell whether it was a request or a demand. "And if I refuse?"

"You won't."

"Hmm," she said. "I suppose if you put it that way."

He chuckled at her. "I just want to know more about you, Marieka. And sometimes the company we keep speaks volumes of us."

"Well," she began, "we met in Riften. Many months ago now. He offered me a...job."

"What does he do?" he asked.

"He is...a merchant in the market," she said quietly.

Her hesitation spoke to Ulfric – she was not being entirely truthful, but he wasn't ready to pry yet.

"And you assist him there, then?" he asked.

"Yes. I...procure items for his mixtures and potions," she said.

"A charlatan then," he decided. "He doesn't seem much like an alchemist to me."

"No! I assist in that regard," she said, shaking her head quickly.

"How did he survive before your help?" His eyes watched her every movement, now certain she was lying. She wouldn't meet his gaze, and began to pick at her fingernails.

If there was one thing that those who surrounded Ulfric knew of him, it was that his memory was sound. It may have taken him time to remember, but he never forgot a face. And he suddenly came to a realization about Brynjolf. This was not his first time in Windhelm. In fact, the more Ulfric thought about it, the more he remembered. He recalled a boy from his youth...almost a man...and his face was merely a younger version of the Nord Marieka had brought with her to the city. There was no other thought in his mind – the man was a thief! He _hated_ thieves.

He recalled her admission that she had encountered Guild members...knew some of them, but never that she was this close. He recoiled from her. "Marieka! Brynjolf...is he...a thief? Are you associating with members of the Thieves Guild in Riften?"

She continued to look away from him and shook her head slowly.

"No, Ulfric. I _am_ one."


	32. Ulfric Stormcloak IV

**Well, here I am. Thirty thousand feet above the ground, somewhere over northern or central Quebec I think. I'm not certain as there is a thick layer of clouds below us now, but last I saw the ground, the snows were starting to give way to bits of bare ground. Therefore I assume we're about there. In any case, I promised I would work on a chapter, and despite the fact that this plane is essentially packed due to the delay of the only other flight from Iqaluit to Ottawa today, I am tucking in my elbows and typing in the most **_**awkward**_** position I have ever written a story from.**

**I'm a little tipsy on account of the wine I've just imbibed, but hey…what better way to suss out some good dialogue for this chapter, am I right? I should probably just have a nap.**

**Also, to my unreachable reviewer (though I suppose I could have tried the email that your reviewer name suggests?)…I appreciate your kind words. Looking back at it, I guess it really **_**wasn't**_** all that smutty. More like a highly romanticized sex scene maybe. I'm flattered that you left a review…truly. Also, don't let those mammoths pull the arms out of your sockets! ;)**

**Oh, and my new profile pic (if it's the one I posted around Feb 20). It's me as Marieka! Well…yeah, not really. But anyway, I blame Temerice for this monstrosity of an idea…further cosplay may ensue.**

**Righty-o. Onward…**

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><p><em><strong>Ulfric Stormcloak IV<strong>_

_You and me, we're in this together now  
>None of them can stop us now…we will make it through somehow<br>You and me, even after everything  
>You're the queen and I'm the king…nothing else means anything<em>

"_We're In This Together", Nine Inch Nails (Reznor)_

* * *

><p>It had been three days since Ulfric threw Marieka out of the Palace of the Kings. Three long days. He spent most of the time angered over allowing himself to put his trust into the thief. The rest of the time, he berated himself for his obvious inability to read her. How could he not have recognized that she belonged to the Thieves Guild? Everything about her said that's what she was. The way she moved, the fact that she seemed to relish in being sent to sneak and swindle. Was it that she hid behind the guise of a mage?<p>

He thought back to the night he brought her to his quarters – to provide a safe environment for her to tell her story. And when she had finished, he'd recalled why he knew the man at her side.

Years before, when Ulfric was nearly out of his teenage years, he had been out running errands for his father who was Jarl of Windhelm at the time. He had been sent to the blacksmith to retrieve a sword that his father had worked tirelessly on designing. The hilt of it was to have been encrusted with emeralds, sapphires and the largest diamond he had ever laid his eyes upon. The sword itself was to have been forged from ebony ore. He had planned to call it Aurora after the dancing lights that so often shone brightly over Skyrim on clear nights.

The market was busy that day, so it was not surprising to be bumped about by the crowds. Still, Ulfric managed to make his way to the blacksmith without incident. He arrived at the smithy to find that the blade was ready for delivery. When the blacksmith, Arleigg, brought the blade out for his approval, his breath caught in his throat and he nearly froze at the sheer beauty of the weapon. This was the blade of kings! Its magnificence was unmatched by any other sword he'd ever seen. It was surely a blade that his father could yield in times of war to smite his enemies, and in times of peace as well – for those who looked upon it would be in awe of such a piece.

Ulfric was afraid to even touch the weapon, for fear of it breaking in his hands. But he summoned the courage to take it from Arleigg's hands and when he held it, he felt a vibration flow through his body. It was light…easy to handle…exquisite. His father would have been overjoyed at the results.

At least, he would have been overjoyed if the blade had made it back to the Palace of the Kings that day.

When Ulfric left the forge, he hurried through the winding back alleys of the city, not wishing to waste any time in returning the blade to his father. In his excitement and hurry, he failed to notice the group of young men and boys that began to follow him. When he came around a blind corner, he ran directly into a rather tall boy, likely a few years younger than himself. Ulfric stumbled as he collided with him, but the boy barely moved. His shoulder length fiery hair was a rare trait in a true blood Nord, but wasn't unheard of. Still, it helped him to recall that he'd seen this boy in the city before. Never with so many others though.

"Well now, lad," he said in a voice that was much deeper than it should have been. "What have you got there?"

"N-nothing," Ulfric stammered, concern rising in the back of his mind over the number of individuals that were surrounding him.

One of the others, a young man – clearly older than the redheaded boy in front of him, yet seemingly responsive to his commands – stepped forward, pulling a dagger from his belt. He dangled the knife in front of Ulfric's face, taunting him.

"Doesn't look like nothin', does it?" the man said, glancing sideways at the boy.

"Nope," he replied. "Why don't you give us a closer look?"

Ulfric's hand closed around the hilt of the blade, but couldn't bring himself to use it in defense. This beautiful weapon should not be sullied on the likes of these petty criminals. In hindsight, his father probably would not have minded, for the blade would not have been snatched from his hands and he'd not have been jumped by several of the group, punched and kicked on the ground as he grimaced from the attack. The tall redheaded Nord was the one who ultimately held the blade in his hands as they walked away, leaving Ulfric bloodied and beaten on the ground.

He fought back angry tears at the loss of what would have been his father's prized possession. When he arrived home to face the man, he feared the repercussions. Yet his father was calm and unsurprisingly saddened. He revealed to Ulfric the true purpose of the blade: it was meant for him. It was meant to be a gift for the day that began his twentieth year on Nirn. And he had lost it to a band of thieves.

When he recalled the day, he seethed in anger over Marieka's revelation to him and the fact that it was Brynjolf himself who had stolen the sword from his grasp. He had never forgotten the boy's face, and while he was now older, would never forgive.

He sent her away for fear of what he worried he might do – not to Brynjolf. He didn't give a shit about what happened to that man. But he _had_ respected Marieka. Thief or not, she had quickly become a trusted ally; one that he wasn't entirely comfortable to see leave his side. But his outright hatred for the 'profession' was overpowering his enjoyment of her company. He didn't know if he'd ever be able to look at her again. He hoped that she wouldn't ever return to Windhelm; that she wouldn't have the nerve to do so.

Still, he recognized that she had faced difficult obstacles in her life – particularly since arriving in Skyrim. At the very least, she wasn't part of that damned brotherhood of assassins.

Could he forgive her for this? He didn't know. He thought it best to not even be given the option to do so. It was simply easier that way.

There wasn't much a large mug of mead couldn't solve.

But this whole thing with Marieka was certainly one such thing. Ulfric thought it not to be so much that _she_ was gone, but that he would not have to find someone suitable to replace what she had built up in such a short time.

Or it _could_ have been that she was gone. He sighed, exasperated over the sense of loss he was feeling.

"You look like you need another."

Ulfric looked up from where he sat at the head of the table to see Galmar standing to the side with two mugs of mead in his hand. He was motioning to the empty mug in front of the Jarl.

He nodded. "I certainly could."

Galmar clunked one of the mugs down in front of Ulfric, then pulled out a chair and slumped into it. He raised his mug into the air. "Here's to…" He paused for a moment, unsure of what to toast. "Ah, fuck it. Just drink."

Ulfric smirked at his second and took a large mouthful of drink. They sat in silence as they pondered their mugs.

"I should have trusted you," Ulfric finally said.

Galmar looked up at him and grunted. "Yes. You should have." He gulped his drink. "I'll admit though, I don't know what you're getting at. Though, I assume it's about the Breton."

He nodded. "She's gone. I discovered that she is a member of the Thieves Guild."

Galmar snorted. "What? You didn't know?"

"You did?" His mouth was agape at Galmar's comment.

"Of course I did," he scoffed. "Mind you, she never tried thieving from me. She'd have lost her hand." He took another large gulp. "So what…you threw her out?"

Ulfric nodded. "You know how I feel about thieves."

Galmar chuckled loudly. "Gods help me if this gets us into another argument, you oaf…but that was completely stupid."

The Jarl looked at his second, narrowing his eyes. "Were you _not_ the one telling me I shouldn't trust her?"

"I never told you not to trust her," he corrected. "I told you that you needed to learn more about her if you were going to _continue_ to trust her. I only wanted you to _think_ about what you were doing."

"Well, I learned more," he replied. "I didn't like what I saw. And she lied to me."

"For Talos' sake, Ulfric! Your temper has cost you more good people than you would even remember," he growled. "You were angry that she lied and you sent her off. But you completely ignored that she was _perfect_ for the things we needed her to do. We _need_ someone that is capable of sneaking into caravans and stealing documents. Or have you forgotten what we've learned in recent days?"

Ulfric mumbled nothing in particular to himself. Where this woman was involved, he didn't seem to be able to make any of the right decisions. It was the reason he normally sought out Galmar for advice, yet it was even difficult for him to take the advice he was offered where she was concerned. No longer though…he would defer to Galmar this time…it was the most logical thing he could do.

"What would you have me do about this Galmar?"

"Where has she gone?" he asked.

"I can only guess that she'd have returned to Riften," Ulfric suggested.

"Then send for her," he said. "This is war, Ulfric. You can't always be fussy about who fights at your side."

"I refuse to grovel for her return."

"Stubborn bastard," Galmar growled. "You don't have to grovel. Just tell her you changed your mind and she can return if she wishes. You're not infallible. You don't have a scroll of instructions for how to behave in war times. And if you put the invitation out there, she'll come back. I know it."

Ulfric crossed his arms, tilting his head at the man. "How?"

"I just do. Stop questioning me," he replied. "By the gods, Ulfric. You're lucky that I'm the only one who sees you in these…moods. You're like a child deciding which sweetroll to pick. The answer is simple. You pick the biggest one with the most icing on it."

The Jarl laughed heartily. "Galmar, did you just compare the Breton to a sweetroll?"

Galmar snorted. "So are you going to send for her? I have an assignment with her name on it. And if she isn't coming back, then I'm going to have to find some other sneak-thief to do the job."

Ulfric grimaced, but nodded slowly. "Yes. I'll send for her."

"Perhaps next time you can save us all the trouble and just listen to me in the first place." Galmar finished off his mead and banged his mug down on the table for emphasis. He stood up, readying himself to leave. "Next time, don't take so long to come around. You just end up wasting valuable time."

He clasped Ulfric's forearm, hinting at the solidarity between the two once more.

_At least some things in this mortal life are consistent…_

* * *

><p>Alone in his quarters, Ulfric sat at the edge of his bed upon its raised platform. He thought back to when Marieka was last in this room with him some days before. He wondered how she could ever have considered the room understated with such an extravagant style of sleeping arrangements, but overall, he supposed it wasn't anything exceedingly ornamental. Still, there was something about the way the bed was situated in the centre of the room like this that spoke of Ulfric's inability to settle for just any woman. This was the type of bed that a man – a warrior, even – would bring his conquered women to in order to impress them. Anyone he had ever brought to this room would display the same level of enthusiasm for the placement of the bed; as if by sitting on it, they would rule over the lands surrounding it. It was similar to the way the Palace of the Kings towered above the rest of Windhelm.<p>

Though the one person who hadn't reacted that way was the Breton. _Simple? Understated? What kind of a reaction is that?_

She was supposed to be impressed. But then, theirs was not a relationship where such matters were considered important. She was respectably rising through the ranks of his rebellion. Or at least, it would have been respectable if she wasn't a member of that gods damned Thieves Guild. He felt anger intensifying in the pit of his stomach again.

_No. I can put those feelings aside for this. The rebellion is far too important to push aside allies when we need them most. Why does Galmar always have to be right?_

He sighed loudly and stood. He needed to send for her, and this letter was not about to write itself.

As he approached the desk in the corner of his room, a knock sounded at the door.

"Enter."

The door opened, revealing his steward, Jorleif.

"My Jarl," he began. "There is…someone to see you."

"Oh? And who might it be?" he asked.

The door opened further as the young Breton woman pushed her way into the room.

Hiding his surprise better than he thought, his expression barely flinched. "Jorleif…leave us."

The steward left, closing the door behind him. When he had gone from the room, Ulfric stepped away from the desk towards where she stood.

"Marieka, what are you—"

"Ulfric Stormcloak. You are a fool for sending me away. You insist that your rebellion is the only thing that you care about. That you would do anything to return Skyrim to the Nords. But you send me away for a reason that is _personal_. You will _never_ take down the Empire if you allow your personal business to supersede your duty to the Stormcloaks. I demand that you reinstate me into your ranks. I will _not_ take no for an answer." She stood defiantly, her hands balled into fists at her side. She spit venom with every word, truly angered by his inability to separate his feelings from the needs of the rebellion. She stepped towards him aggressively, pointing her finger in his face. "You _need_ me!"

He raised an eyebrow, considering the weight of her statement. There weren't many people he needed by his side. Galmar was one of the elite few…Ulfric would be lost without the support of his experienced second. But here she was in front of him, suggesting that she might be another. Perhaps he did need her. More than she could imagine. More than even he could.

Grabbing her hand from in front of his face, he stepped up even closer to her. There was barely space between the two, but she remained defiant; her eyes narrowed at him…almost feral in their intensity.

"I have considered my decision for a number of days, Marieka," he said. "I concluded that I made a mistake in sending you away. You're correct in saying that I put my own feelings ahead of the rebellion. I had been planning to send for you, but as per usual, you showed up at the perfect moment."

"Does that mean I am to be allowed to fight for you once more?" she asked.

"There are stipulations."

"Name them," she said bluntly.

"While you are a part of the rebellion, you will not live your life as a thief. If you return to Riften, you cannot communicate with your Guild so long as you are a Stormcloak," he explained.

She sighed. "I understand. And accept."

"You are to stay in Windhelm while we fight," he said. "I need you close by in this conflict."

She looked at him for a moment, as if trying to gauge something from his face.

"I have no issue with this," she replied. "I had spoken to Jorleif about purchasing property in the city anyhow."

"For your Guild?" he grumbled.

She hesitated for a moment. "Primarily for me. But…I cannot say that the Guild wouldn't pass through."

"I don't know if I can allow that," he said, a hint of anger rising in his throat.

"Ulfric," she began. "I do not intend them to work out of Windhelm. But they need a safe haven while they travel across the land. I respect your wishes…just as I respect you. There would be no Guild business conducted at that home."

"I suppose I cannot refuse you. There are worse things," he said in resignation.

"Thank you," she replied, a faint smile appearing.

"There is one more thing," he said.

"Oh?"

"You do not fight for me," he advised. "You fight _with_ me." He looked at his hand, still holding hers. The distance between them was trivial; they were almost uncomfortably close. Yet Ulfric sensed no hesitation from her. When he looked back at her, her stance had relaxed. He let go of her hand and took a half step back.

"So you came back to Windhelm…to scold me then?" he asked, a mischievous grin on his lips.

"I never left," she advised. "I found suitable accommodations for the past number of days and thought about your decision. And every time I meant to leave for Riften, I knew your decision was wrong and I couldn't leave. I finally got the courage today to confront you about it."

"And what of your Nord?" he asked.

"Brynjolf is here in the city with me," she replied. "I have not told him of your story."

He grimaced, thinking of the stolen blade and the young Brynjolf's smirking face as he walked away with it, leaving Ulfric to be beaten by his cohorts.

"Perhaps you should," he suggested. "And perhaps you should also consider that story the next time you carry out a job for your Guild."

"Ulfric," she said, sighing. "I have no illusions about what I do. It is not noble; I know this. But sometimes you do what you can to survive. I suppose that you wouldn't know, but there is an orphanage in Riften."

"Yes," he interrupted. "I know of it."

"Yes…well, I make sure that I give coin to the children there as often as I can. The old woman who runs it is a terrible person. I pity those children…growing up without anyone that wants them. I almost know that feeling."

"Hmm," he said, remembering something. "I had sent a boy to live there once. Jorleif mentioned something about rumours of strange noises from his former home. Perhaps you can investigate once these battles give us reprieve."

"I would be happy to help," she replied. "Shame he's there though."

"I will look into the matter further," he said. "In the meantime, you should seek out Galmar. He has intelligence on our next plan of attack to strike the Imperials and disrupt their supply routes."

"Of course," she nodded.

"Glad to have you back," he said as she began to turn around. "I have all faith that with you back at my side, there will be no stopping the Stormcloaks. We will see this through to the end. Together."

She smiled and then turned away. Suddenly, she spun back to face him, stepping immediately in front of him. She jumped up to her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Ulfric." She lowered on to the heels of her feet and smiled at him.

When she walked away from him, he stood; fingers upon his cheek where her lips had just been. She was a whirlwind. A mess. But she was going to be the difference in this rebellion. He didn't know how or why he felt that way, but he wasn't going to question it.

Some things were worth just accepting…

* * *

><p><strong>Update from two pages in – should have <strong>_**never**_** had that glass of wine. And three pages in, I've just returned from a dinner…after **_**many**_** glasses of wine. I've written this whole chapter while intoxicated. Results may vary.**


	33. Ralof

**Okay, I just wanted another opportunity to link to this video, hence using this song in the beginning. But, it does relate nonetheless. Go check this out…it's the full opening credits to The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo…The Immigrant Song as interpreted by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross. In-freaking-credible. youtu. be/ tcp9Ysi75f0**

**Just another thank you to all the new folks along for the ride (through faves and alerts), and my old faithful readers. Thank you all for your feedback, comments, reviews, PMs. I'm feeling the love…seriously. For those of you who don't know, I was in a bit of a snowmobile accident on the weekend, so the bulk of this chapter was precariously written with a laptop on one leg with the other one up on the back of the couch, and me…pumped full of painkillers. At least I've stopped with the wine for a bit.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Ralof<strong>_

_We come from the land of the ice and snow,  
>From the midnight sun where the hot springs blow.<br>How soft your fields so green, can whisper tales of gore,  
>Of how we calmed the tides of war. We are your overlords.<em>

"_The Immigrant Song", Led Zeppelin (Page, Plant)_

* * *

><p>The morning was colder than it had been in recent days. Ralof wasn't convinced that the temperature had anything to do with the climate of Skyrim however; he was sure the camp's proximity to the fort at Broken Tower Redoubt had more to do with the chill up his spine. Those damn Forsworn crawled through the fort; their burning eyes scanning the horizon. Ralof and his men were forced to keep their cooking fires low to prevent unwanted attention. It also meant that they had to rely upon their furs and pelts for added warmth. And he wasn't sure if either was successful.<p>

Low clouds at this elevation were at least helping to provide cover from both directions: preventing discovery from the fort to the south and the caravan that was parked to the north that they had been tracking. It was involved in some sort of an accident – from what his scouts advised him, Ralof could only assume that they encountered a sinkhole. The freezing and thawing of the ground led to a depression that one of the largest carts became trapped in.

It was a positive development for his Stormcloak brethren – this was going to be their first mission to prove their worth to Galmar Stone-Fist, Ulfric's second in command. Ralof had hoped since his promotion to Captain for an opportunity like this. Something to prove to his seniors that he was worthy of the title. This delay in the caravan's progress would allow for the reinforcements to arrive, and he would lead them to victory against the guards they would face. Since he received word that the men Galmar was sending should be arriving that day, he had been on the lookout for them since the sun rose.

"Still no sign of reinforcements, Captain?"

Ralof looked up at the Nord warrior Haakon. The large man was leaning heavily upon his steel greatsword.

"I don't suspect we'll see them until closer to the time when the sun is highest in the sky," Ralof said, shaking his head. "But then, I've been wrong before." His eyes narrowed as he looked towards the south. A figure in the fog was approaching from a distance; small, yet guarded. He couldn't tell who it was…whether it was one of the Forsworn or someone else. "On your guard men."

The soldiers in the temporary camp readied their weapons and slipped behind the natural elements in the landscape. They were partially surrounded on three sides by large shrubbery and thick vegetation. Several jutting pieces of rock stuck out as well, obscuring their position from oncoming attack. Yet the approaching individual seemed to be heading directly towards them. Ralof signalled to the others to stay back as he stepped out slowly towards the path, attempting to draw the figure's attention away from his troops. He could see the silhouetted figure place their hand upon their sheathed weapon, but did not draw it.

As the fog slowly dissipated from around the figure, he could make out that it was a woman who approached. A woman he'd seen before. _Of course! She was at Korvanjund when we retrieved the crown for Ulfric!_

But it wasn't the first time he'd seen her. Her face was unmistakable. She had also been on the wagon when he was taken to Helgen…to be put to death. He had no idea then what her so-called crime was against the Imperials, but it appeared that she wasn't about to let them get away with anything they'd done against her now. She had joined the Stormcloaks to fight against the Empire.

"Good day to you, woman," he called out. "Have you been sent by Galmar?"

He could see her relax her stance as she continued to approach. "I have."

"Just you?" Ralof was taken aback that she was their only reinforcement.

She finally stood before him and nodded. "Do you not trust Galmar's judgment?"

"I do not question his judgment," he replied. "But I'll admit I was expecting…more than a single person."

"He tells me that you'll only need me for this," she said flatly. "There are apparently small numbers guarding the caravan. And that you'll only need one person to sneak into it."

"So you know of our mission then?"

"I was the one who discovered just how important this caravan will be for us," she replied. He wondered if there were arrogance behind her words, but it appeared to be nothing more than a factual statement. "I suppose it's rather serendipitous that you've managed to encounter this in your scouting patrols."

"Yes…absolutely fortunate," he replied. "You must have been travelling on foot for some time. Please…come and get some food and we can discuss how to handle this situation."

She nodded and followed him to where the others were concealed. He could see her scanning over him, uncertain of something.

"Like what you see, Breton?" he joked.

"No," she quickly replied. "I mean…yes…I…" She looked straight ahead, trying to avoid his eyes.

He chuckled over her awkwardness. "Relax. I'm only wondering why you're paying such close attention to me."

She looked back at him. "I'm just trying to figure out where I know you from. I think I saw you before we took Whiterun."

"Ah, yes," he replied. "Whiterun as well. I was wondering the same when I saw you approaching. I recall you from Korvanjund. And Helgen."

"Helgen?" she replied incredulously. "You were at Helgen?"

"I was. In fact, we spoke briefly. In the wagon on the way there."

"You?" She eyed him closely, slowly nodding. "Yes, I do remember you now. You were the one…you set me free of my bindings."

He nodded. "And after everything, you _still_ decided to go with that damned Hadvar," he said, joking.

"Yeah…about that," she replied. "I didn't know what was happening. It was chaotic. There were people everywhere. I didn't know where I was—"

"Relax," Ralof interrupted. "I'm only joking. I know it was chaotic. I only wondered if it was something I said."

"I…I don't think so," she replied.

He looked at her oddly. "You don't…really get my humour…do you?"

She frowned. "No, I suppose I don't. Sorry about that…but then, I have a lot going on…in here." She pointed to her head.

He chuckled and stopped her. "We still haven't introduced ourselves. I'm Ralof. Captain Ralof."

"Captain, is it?" she repeated. "Well, it is good to meet you, Captain Ralof. I'm Marieka. No title."

"Marieka, you say," he replied. "I've heard your name in whispers. And I believe you _do_ have a title. You've been called Bone-Breaker."

She grimaced. "Hardly. I'm a mage, Ralof. I rarely break bones."

"Galmar and Ulfric do not easily throw titles around," he advised. "Whatever you've done, you must have impressed them. Either way, let me introduce you to everyone here."

She peered around him, spotting the group that had now relaxed their positions when they saw Ralof welcoming her to the camp.

He passed her a large piece of bread, for which she was thankful and immediately began to pick away at it while he introduced the Stormcloaks. He pointed to each member of the camp in turn, beginning with Haakon who approached her and nodded. He was a full two heads taller than she was and Ralof couldn't help but smile when he saw just how far she had to crane her neck to look at the man. Two others approached, both archers: Jannicke, a tall, slender Nord with the appearance of a young woman just coming into her own; and Peder, a grizzled older man full of anger and an inherent mistrust for outsiders. Neither of the two seemed particularly impressed with Marieka's appearance at the camp, but greeted her nonetheless. A young man in his teenage years approached her, sticking out his hand to greet her. She shook it and he introduced himself as Soren. As the smallest one in camp, he was pleased to find someone was finally more diminutive than he. Another archer, Karine remained on the ground, but nodded to her as she stepped forth. The last of the group was a blacksmith – an older man named Stellan who travelled with them to assist with weapons support when it was needed.

She looked at Stellan and then at Soren carefully. "You must be kin," she observed. "The two of you resemble each other far too much to be coincidental."

Stellan smiled at her as he looked upon the younger man. The shade of their dark blonde hair was similar. The facial structure near their nose and chin were almost identical. And despite the different colours of the iris of their eyes, the shapes were unmistakably similar. He nodded at her. "Soren is my son."

Her expression turned contemplative, and while Ralof did not miss it, neither did he comment upon it. They had all experienced loss in their lives at one point or another; there was no sense in dwelling upon it.

"Come Marieka," he said. "Now that you've met everyone in camp, perhaps we can discuss strategy."

She nodded. "What's the situation at the caravan?"

Ralof described the delay they faced with the current status of the largest cart. He suggested that if one of them could infiltrate the caravan's location to take out the scout, the rest of them could attack the Imperial guards from the ridge above. It couldn't have been in a more perfect location.

"I could certainly help in that regard," Marieka said. "Though I work best under cover of darkness."

"I thought it best that we attacked at night anyhow," Ralof agreed. He looked around at the others for their agreement. Seeing no opposition, he continued. "It's settled then. We attack at dusk. With any luck, the Imperials will have bellies full of meat and mead and won't know what's hit them. Feel free to explore, but stay away from the caravan. And be back before the sun begins to set."

Most of the group dispersed, happy to stretch their legs for the day and careful to avoid the area south where the Forsworn were situated. Only Marieka, Stellan and his son remained with Ralof, and she quickly settled in next to the fire and into conversation. That discussed at length how both Ralof and Stellan came to be a part of the rebellion, but eventually, Ralof's curiousity got the better of him.

"So how does a Breton find herself in the company of Ulfric Stormcloak?" he asked out of the blue.

She shrugged slightly. "I found my way to Windhelm for…_some_thing. I can't even recall what I was there for now. But I came upon the scene of some guards investigating a murder of a young woman. When the guards said I couldn't help them unless I had permission from the steward, I marched right up to the Palace of the Kings. And the man I was searching for wasn't there…so I spoke directly to Ulfric."

"Wow," Soren said, evidently star struck. "You know, you hear of these great leaders, but you never think you'll meet them. What was it like? To meet Ulfric, I mean."

Her expression changed; she looked temporarily confused. "I'm not sure…I mean…what do you mean? He's…just a man."

Soren looked slightly disappointed by her answer. "You mean, you weren't in awe of him? He's such a legendary man! Shouting the High King to death!"

She shrugged. "Well, I suppose. That is, he's impressive. Rather large, but then his second is so much more frightening. Especially since I'm so…not very large."

Stellan chuckled at her stumbling over words. "Don't mind the boy," he said. "Ulfric has been a hero to him for some years now. That they finally allowed him to join the rebellion has been a bit of a blessing for our family. It has given me some regular work as well."

"Your work is much needed, Stellan," Ralof interjected. "And your son is of the age where we can begin to include him in some more basic tasks. He has learned to fight well very quickly."

Soren's face lit up with a large smile. His father put an arm around him proudly.

"A true Nord," Stellan said. "Never prouder have I been of my son."

Marieka smiled at them both, yet Ralof again noticed the wistful look behind the smile.

"You're of the age to have children, Marieka," Stellen noted. "Do you have any?"

"Me?" she exclaimed. "Oh no! No, I don't have children."

"What's wrong?" Ralof joked. "Haven't found the right man? You need one of us strong Nords…not one of your silky Breton men."

She couldn't hold back the smile from her face. "No…no, it's not that," she replied. "I'm just…I don't think I'm the mothering type."

Both Stellan and Ralof looked at her, as if appraising her suitability from her appearance.

"Nonsense," Stellan countered. "_Every_ woman has it in them to be a mother."

"Bah!" she growled. "You Nords and your ridiculous molds to fit everyone into. Not every woman is suitable for domestication, you know."

"Oh ho ho!" Ralof exclaimed. "Got a bit of a lively one here, eh Stellan?"

Marieka crossed her arms defiantly, glaring at him. "I'm much too busy to consider even _thinking _about a child," she pointed out. "What, with the rebellion…and…I do a lot of travelling. I'm _very_ busy."

"You mentioned that," Ralof said, smirking. "I think I was right. You haven't found the right man."

She shot him another cold look. "As a matter of fact," she corrected him, "I _have_ found the right man. We just…haven't…_discussed_ such things."

"Are you married?" Stellan asked.

"What? _Why_ does everyone want to know if I'm married?" she exclaimed in a huff. "No, I'm not married to the man."

Ralof smiled at Stellan, pleased at the reaction they were getting as they teased her.

"Is he a prissy Breton?" Ralof asked, chuckling after he did so.

"By the gods, Ralof," she grumbled, clearly not amused by the line of questions. "Why must all you men be the same? Always asking the same questions. Always wanting to know what isn't your business."

"Ah, my apologies, Marieka," he said. "I've been enjoying your reaction."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You _do_ realize I can set you on fire if I want, right?"

He laughed in response. "Truly. I am sorry."

"Fine," she said. "Apology accepted."

A few moments of silence passed.

"I still want to know if this man's a Breton."

If she could have set him on fire simply by looking at him, it would have happened in that moment.

"Oh for Talos' sake!" she cried. "No! He's not a Breton. He's a Nord! Are you happy to know this?"

Ralof looked over at Stellan, who immediately shrugged at him.

"Actually, yes. That _does_ make me strangely happy," he replied.

She drove a small fist into his arm. "Ow! Your bloody chainmail!"

The three men laughed openly at her. She looked down at her hand, rubbing it and scrunching up her face. But soon after, she joined in with them, laughing at the ridiculousness of the whole conversation.

"Listen," she began. "No more questions about me, okay?"

The others nodded, before Soren's eyes lit up. "Wait! I have one more!"

She sighed. "Go ahead, Soren."

"You said your name was Marieka," he said. "I've heard rumours about a Marieka. That she is the Dragonborn. Is it true? Are you the Marieka they talk about?"

"Soren," Stellan interrupted. "Don't…"

"No Stellan," she said. "It's…fine. I…yes. I am her. I'm the Dragonborn."

Soren nearly fainted from the revelation. Ralof's jaw dropped; his mouth opening wide. "Gods woman! You should have told me before. I'd never have teased you so much had I known you could shout me to death if you wanted to!"

"And you _continue_ to tease, Captain?" she asked. "You really don't know what's good for you."

He smiled at her. "Marieka…Dragonborn…we are pleased to have you here with us. I tease because…it's what I do best."

"It really is," Stellan agreed. "To tell the truth, I have no idea how he became Captain. This fool of a man."

"Hey," Ralof protested. "I'm right here."

"I thank you all for your…interesting method of welcoming a person into your scouting party," she said. "But I expect your treatment of me will be no different from the rest of your soldiers."

"If that's what you wish," he replied, "then I can certainly treat you like every other grunt around here."

"That suits me just fine," she replied, smiling.

"Which means you can start peeling the potatoes for the stew we'll be making for lunch," he instructed, grinning at her.

She nodded. "Walked right into that one, didn't I?"

"You certainly did," he said, handing her a sack. "If you don't have a suitable knife, I'm sure we can find you one."

He smiled to himself, content that this woman – the Dragonborn herself – would be fighting at his side. _Had _fought by his side. And yet, was not above helping to prepare a meal for her fellow Stormcloaks. For all the powers that being the Dragonborn brought with it, she was humble…unassuming. She barely looked to be a threat to anyone.

But he recalled now seeing her fight when they entered the ruins at Korvanjund. And he remembered that she had shouted. He didn't really know what it was that he had seen at the time, but now it all made sense. She had a gift from the gods and was delivered directly into the hands of the Stormcloaks. They must have truly favoured the true sons and daughters of Skyrim to have sent the Dragonborn into their ranks.

He had no illusions about the dangers of the civil war he was entangled in. But at the very least, with the Dragonborn at his side – and essentially his command – his confidence increased by leaps and bounds. There was no way anything could possibly go wrong this day. The caravan would be ripe for the picking and his name would be remembered. It was all Ralof could _ever_ have asked for.

He'd have to remember to thank her for it all later.

* * *

><p>If he'd have ever told his men a fortnight ago – before they'd successfully taken the broken caravan with little resistance – that they'd all be standing victorious on the top of Fort Sungard that day, Ralof would have been laughed out of camp. Yet there he stood, listening to the cheers of the Stormcloaks as they celebrated their victory over the Imperials in the Reach.<p>

He stood upon the southern rampart of the fort, surveying the destruction in the courtyard below. So much death. The Imperials fought hard, bringing an end to several Stormcloak soldiers before they met their own ends. Yet they prevailed. There were many injured rebels who fought bravely and stood until they could no longer do so. A small figure darted back and forth between them all. It was Marieka; she was handing out mixtures to heal their lesser wounds, and using her arcane abilities to attempt to heal some of the deeper, more grievous injuries. It seemed that the Bone-Breaker was actually quite the opposite of her title.

"Oye!" he called. "Dragonborn!"

She paused, spinning around to look up at him. "Captain! You survived!" she called back to him. "Shocking!"

"Bite your tongue, woman!"

Even from that height, he could see her smirk as she returned her attention to the soldier she was next to. Their short tenure together had seen them grow close on the battlefield. She continued to fall into his traps of wit and mischievous banter, but she never seemed to mind the teasing in the end. Why, he'd even begun to consider her a friend.

When she'd finished assisting those who required it, she ascended the stairs to the outer wall of the fort and approached Ralof. When she stood in front of him, he put a hand on her shoulder.

"Nice work out there," he said.

She nodded and looked up at him. "You too. The troops fight well under your command, Captain."

"It is a shame we lost some today," he replied. "We will return their bodies to their families. I'll see to that."

"I'd like to help you, if I can," she advised and he nodded.

He was about to continue, when a commotion from outside the gates of the fort sounded. They both looked down to see a young Nord on horseback, riding furiously into the courtyard.

"The Captain!" he called. "Where is the captain?"

"Up here, boy!" Ralof shouted down. The young man immediately dismounted and ran up the steps towards where they stood.

When he reached them, he pulled out a parchment and handed it to Ralof.

"I bring a message from Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak," he declared.

Ralof looked at Marieka, who shrugged in response. He unrolled the parchment and his eyes skimmed the message quickly. They widened as he read the letter.

"What is it, Ralof?" Marieka asked.

"A dragon," he replied. "A dragon has attacked Windhelm. Ulfric summons us there immediately."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, she sighed. "I shall instruct the men to gather the bodies of the fallen, and then I'll prepare myself to leave."

He nodded and folded the parchment up. A _dragon_ at Windhelm. What did it mean? Did the gods not favour the Stormcloaks after all? He hurried down the steps to prepare himself for departure as well. This was not good news. But at the very least, the Dragonborn would be there when he met with Ulfric. If anyone would be able to assist in this situation, it would be Marieka.

When she returned to his side, ready to set off for Windhelm, he saw the concern on her face. She was just as uncertain over what was to come as he was.

"I think it's time we set aside our differences with the Empire for a short while," he said. "There is a far bigger threat in these dragons than the Imperials could ever be to Skyrim."

She nodded. "We'd best hurry. Ulfric won't want to be kept waiting over this."

Ralof left Haakon in charge of the remaining troops and set off with Marieka on their long journey to Windhelm. So much uncertainty existed. He silently prayed to the gods that they'd see the Stormcloaks to victory over the Imperials…but first, that they'd allow them to survive the return of the dragons to Tamriel. And as he watched Marieka out of the corner of his eye, he knew that he wasn't the only one doing so.


	34. Ulfric Stormcloak V

**I had two ways to take this story from this point. One was not this way…it was to leave Ulfric as background for this part of the adventure. But then I started listening to The Downward Spiral by Nine Inch Nails again, and well…my inspiration took me here. I was going to let this confrontation stew a bit, but I don't know if I can wait any longer. Damn you Trent Reznor!**

**This chapter feels like that movie AI, where it was essentially directed down the middle by Kubrick and Spielburg. You can totally tell when the change happened. And Trent Reznor is to Kubrick what Sigur Ros is to Spielburg…I know the exact moment I switched playlists. ;)**

**I hope this chapter answers some looming questions that I know a lot of folks have had. But if it's a good chapter, it will leave just as many in its wake.**

**Thanks for reading…**

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><p><em><strong>Ulfric Stormcloak V<strong>_

_Time has stopped before us  
>The sky cannot ignore us<br>No one can separate us  
>For we are all that is left<em>

_The echo bounces off me  
>The shadow lost beside me<br>There's no more need to pretend  
>Cause now I can begin again<em>

"_The Beginning is the End is the Beginning", Smashing Pumpkins (Corgan)_

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><p>In the days following the dragon's attack on Windhelm, Ulfric paced incessantly in the throne room. He was already on edge about the Stormcloak attack on Fort Sungard – there had been no word about its progress. But then the dragon…the balance of his sanity was tilting in the <em>wrong<em> direction.

He was thankful at least that he had made amends with Marieka. He felt confident that things were harmonising for the rebellion – they were able to capture the caravan she had discovered from the Jarl of Markarth's steward without incident. Though, he was still concerned over her connection with the Nord thief. The thief who was _still_ in Windhelm for gods know what reason. Ulfric clenched his teeth as he continued to pace back and forth at the front of the room.

"My Jarl," Jorleif said, interrupting his thoughts. "Is there perhaps something I can do to help your mood?"

He shot his steward a piercing glare and continued to stomp. "There is nothing _wrong_ with my mood, Jorleif."

"As you say, my Jarl."

"What in Talos' name is _that_ supposed to mean?" he growled.

"N-nothing at all," Jorleif stammered, stepping backwards away from where Ulfric had stopped his pacing.

"Does the weight of my worry bother you?"

"I…I just don't like to feel helpless," he offered. "I would like to offer my assistance, but I'm not certain where it is needed."

Ulfric lifted his hand to his chin and scratched at his rough beard. "There might be something you can do. I need to get something off of my chest."

"What would you wish me to do?" Jorleif seemed satisfied enough that Ulfric had finally decided to give him a task.

"Summon someone for me," he demanded. "The thief from Riften whom Marieka is so fond of."

Jorleif sighed. He'd heard Ulfric's ranting about the man enough since he arrived in the city. Perhaps bringing him to the palace wouldn't be a good idea, but at the very least, it might allow the Jarl to vent some frustration over his presence.

"As you wish," he replied and left the man alone with his thoughts.

"Good," Ulfric mumbled to himself. "The thief and I have much to discuss." He stepped up to his throne, lounging back into it, his arms draped over the sides. However long it took Jorleif to find this Brynjolf, he would wait for him there. If it was to be the only thing he accomplished, he would make the man bow down to him by the end of this day.

Jorleif returned within the hour with no news on Brynjolf's whereabouts. He had checked every inn, tavern and store to find the man to no avail. Ulfric looked grim with the delivery of the news.

Suddenly, his eyes widened. "What about Hjerim?"

"My Jarl?"

"Have you checked Hjerim? Marieka purchased the home from you, did she not?" Ulfric's hopeful expression caused his steward concern, yet he nodded in response anyhow.

"Yes, she did," he replied. "You expect he'll be there?"

"I cannot say," he admitted. "But it is worth looking into."

"As you wish, my Jarl."

When Jorleif returned for the second time, he led a very unhappy looking Nord behind him. Brynjolf was obviously not amused over the intrusion, particularly as it came at the order of Ulfric Stormcloak.

Still, he was civil enough, nodding at the Jarl as he approached. When Ulfric had surmised enough time had passed to make the man sweat a bit, he straightened up slightly on the throne, leaning forward.

"I don't suppose you'd know why I've summoned you here," he began.

"I can only imagine it has something to do with Marieka," Brynjolf replied.

"And that would be where you're wrong," Ulfric stated plainly. "You see, you and I are not as unfamiliar with each other as you might think."

"Oh?" He shifted his weight to the other foot.

"I have lived my whole life in Windhelm," he explained. "My father was the Jarl before me. So you see, I am very familiar with the goings on in my city."

Ulfric eyed the other Nord carefully. He could see him swallow hard, uncertain of what was to be revealed.

"There is a day I recall," he continued, "more than any other. I was much younger then. But what you probably don't know about me is that my mind is just as sharp now as it was then."

"Why are you telling me this?" Brynjolf asked, attempting to display an aura of calm.

"Silence, Nord!" Ulfric bellowed. "You will not speak until I ask you to do so."

Brynjolf shifted nervously, but did not back away from him. He displayed no outright fear, though was obviously more than a little concerned at the man's aggressive tone.

"My father sent me on an errand," he continued again. "To retrieve the most impressive blade I have ever laid my eyes upon. He called it Aurora, after the beauty of the night skies. But Aurora never made it home to him that day."

Ulfric stood and descended the steps from the throne's pedestal. He approached Brynjolf and on equal footing, was no longer the towering party. As both men straightened themselves up in some misguided display of bravado, the Jarl reached his hand up, seizing the collar of Brynjolf's loose tunic in his fist and pulling down hard. It caused the man's height advantage to become worthless, and he was forced to look up at him.

"_You_ stole the blade," he growled. "You and your follow _thieves_ surrounded me, beat me half to death and then _you_ took the blade out of my hands."

"I...wait, I..." Brynjolf had nothing to say in his defense. He had been caught. As Ulfric explained his true purpose for bringing him there, the day in question replayed in his mind as it was narrated to him.

"Shut up! _You _are the reason that I sent Marieka away," he said angrily. "Had I not put aside my differences, the Stormcloak rebellion could have failed. All because of your dirty, underhanded behaviour."

"Don't blame your failures on me, _Stormcloak_," Brynjolf seethed in response. "Marieka would have never returned had I not allowed her to."

"You? You have no power over that woman!"

"I have more power than _you_ could ever hope to," the taller man growled.

Without a moment's hesitation, he drove his fist into Brynjolf's cheek, sending the man reeling backwards. When he steadied himself, he gingerly rubbed his face, stretching his jaw open to put things back where they were meant to be.

"Fuck you, Stormcloak," he chided. "Not every Nord is buying what you're selling."

"No," Ulfric countered. "Evidently, there are those of you who would prefer to steal it. I don't understand what Marieka sees in you. You have nothing to offer a woman like that."

"I offer her what she needs," he countered. "You offer her _nothing_ but death!"

"She comes to me because she wants to fight."

"Don't put words into her mouth!" Brynjolf demanded. "You have _no_ idea what she wants."

"Apparently you don't either." Ulfric stood tall, a satisfied look upon his face over the other Nord's reactions to his words.

Brynjolf suddenly launched himself at the Jarl, driving a knee hard into his abdomen. Ulfric doubled over at the impact, grasping at his stomach. He coughed, trying to catch his breath.

"This is about what I did to you," Brynjolf pointed out. "Why do you insist upon making this about her?"

"You don't deserve her, thief!" He was still hunched over from the effect of the other man's attack.

Brynjolf sighed and turned away from Ulfric. "All I want is for her to be safe. For her to not have to put herself in danger. And you continually push her right back into it. When is she going to be able to live her life for herself? Where no one is telling her what they need her to do next?"

"Don't turn your back on me, Nord," Ulfric angrily spouted. When Brynjolf turned around, he was greeted by the end of Ulfric's blade. "She is unselfish. She wishes to fight for the betterment of this land. Which is more than I can say for you."

"What do you want from me, Ulfric?" he asked in exasperation. "I can't take back what I did to you. And it was a long time ago."

"And yet, you are _still_ a thief," Ulfric countered. "You either haven't learned anything, or you simply don't care."

"I'm a thief. What do you want me to say?" He brought his hand up to push the blade away from his throat, but Ulfric held his hand steady. "Do you plan to kill me over this? Is that what you wish to do?"

Ulfric breathed in deeply. "I'd be no better than you if I did."

"I'm not a fucking assassin!" Brynjolf exclaimed. His hand was driven deep into his hair as he struggled to determine how to resolve the situation. "We're at an impasse here. Do you want me to give you coin for what I took?"

"That blade was priceless!" Ulfric roared.

"Then _what_ do you want?"

Ulfric stood in quiet contemplation. "Leave her. Go back to Riften. Never seek her out again."

"You're mad. Do you know that?" he asked. "No. I'll not leave her."

"Don't expect her to leave my service so easily then," Ulfric warned.

"You intend to hold her hostage then?" Brynjolf asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Not at all," he replied. "She'll stay of her own volition. She _wants_ to fight against the Empire. She _desires_ her revenge."

"She…told you of what happened?" the thief asked, seemingly hurt that she would do so.

Ulfric's throat tensed when he recognized the emotion on Brynjolf's face. He had thought he was the only one that she shared the story with. And perhaps at one point, he was. But no longer.

"Of course she told me," he replied, not letting on how much it took for her to do so. He suspected she _had_ wanted to keep it between her and Brynjolf.

"And you would still risk her life over this little vendetta of yours…"

"I risk _no one's_ life," Ulfric said. "You stole something of mine. I am merely returning the favour."

Brynjolf bit back his anger, clenching his jaw tight. He began to consider Ulfric's words. If he just…left. Went back to Riften and left Marieka alone, Ulfric would release her from her service to the Stormcloaks. But would it even matter? He merely paid the man lip service when he said that he 'allowed' her to return to them. If Marieka had ever heard those words from the man's mouth, she'd have laughed him out of the city. But not before issuing a serious tongue lashing – and not the kind he'd prefer to be a part of.

He watched Ulfric turn and begin his ascent to the throne once more. When he spoke, Ulfric paused.

"What if I were to leave? Would you…let her go?"

Ulfric turned around slowly, almost in disbelief that his ultimatum was about to be accepted.

"Of course," he replied. "I honour my agreements. Unlike most thieves. Of course, it would be up to her if she wished to stay. And continue to fight."

Brynjolf bit his lip and stepped forward. He breathed a heavy breath swallowing hard. "Then…then I will do it. I will leave for Riften immediately."

"You will do no such thing," came a voice from behind him.

Ulfric watched Brynjolf spin around and they both spotted the source of the voice. It was Marieka, with Ralof at her side. She immediately ran to Brynjolf and threw her arms around him, kissing him fervently; his mouth mirroring her own. As he held her tight, her arms lingered behind him. He whispered something into her ear, and the Jarl saw her smile widely in response, her eyes sparkling as they locked with those of her thief. The moments they held each other ticked by far too slowly for Ulfric's liking.

When they pulled away from each other, she turned to face the Jarl, a frown settling on her lips.

"Ulfric," she began. "Just what are you trying to negotiate?"

"It is not important now that you have arrived."

"I think it best that we speak alone," she said, pursing her lips.

He nodded and motioned for the war room. He followed her in, and when she stood near the table, he again motioned, this time towards his quarters. She shook her head and looked down.

"What do you wish to discuss?"

"Ulfric…just what were you having Brynjolf agree to do?" she asked calmly. For the moment.

"I asked him to leave the city," he said simply.

"You asked him to leave _me_, you mean," she corrected.

He nodded.

"What are you…why? Why would you do that?" She stood for a moment with her hand at her temple, squeezing her eyes shut. When she opened them again, she stared directly at him. "What? Did you tell him? Of the blade?"

He nodded again.

"Do you try to punish me as well?" she asked. "Because that is what this agreement would amount to, Ulfric. Sending the man I love away from my side…despite _my _agreement to your terms of returning to the Stormcloaks."

"Marieka, I…"

She held up a hand, giving him pause. "What…is it that you…seek from me?" she asked, uncertain if those were the correct words to even ask. "Is it that you wish for my companionship? For my love? Because…if that is what you're asking for…"

"No," he quickly interjected. "No, that's not what I ask of you." He stepped towards her, placing one hand on her shoulder as the other brushed back the hair from her face. "Marieka, when you first came to me, I'll admit I wouldn't have given you a second thought. But, you've proven yourself worthy to be counted among the true sons and daughters of Skyrim. More than that…you've…" He stepped back for a moment, looking up to the ceiling. "I've not loved another for a very long time."

"But I thought you just said—"

"Shh," he hushed. "Just…listen." She nodded her agreement and remained quiet. "Having you by my side these past weeks…months even? It reminded me of being with the woman I once loved. It was never…never about that though. But you…challenge me the way she once did. You remind me of things I've forgotten. You've kept me on the righteous path…just as she did. I have not felt that for too long. I have wanted to hold on to the feeling for longer than I had any right to. And Brynjolf's actions against me so many years ago…were just a convenient excuse."

"Ulfric…who was she?" Marieka asked, tilting her head with concern.

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter." He looked down into his open palms with regret…the memory of loss…and uncertainty.

"I will fight by your side, Ulfric," she reassured him. "I gave you my word that I would."

"Your Nord is concerned," he replied.

She smiled at him then. "He'll get over it. I shall spend some moments with him and he will be fine."

"His love for you is strong. He…was willing to leave to see to it that you were safe," he said.

She nodded. "You'll find that again one day, my friend."

He shook his head. "No. The time for that has passed. Skyrim is my only concern. And that is the reason I sent for you and the Captain. A dragon attacked the city a number of days ago. I wonder if there will be a land to fight for against the Imperials if we continue to disregard the dragon menace."

"It is perhaps time for me to return to the Blades," she suggested.

"The Blades?" he repeated. "A name I've not heard for many years."

"I'll need to make for Riverwood," she said. "It was where I last left them."

"Take the Captain with you," he said. "If memory serves me, he has family there. And would be a good escort. Perhaps a second escort?" He looked at her knowingly, and she accepted his suggestion carefully.

She smiled at him. "I will return to you when I have better news regarding the dragons."

Ulfric remained in the throne room as she began to leave.

"Marieka?" he called out after her before she disappeared from sight.

She turned around to face him, but said nothing.

"You are a daughter to make any father proud," he said. "I'd be honoured to call you my own."

Before her eyes gave way to the saltwater behind them, they danced in gratitude for his words. She smiled reflectively before spinning around and leaving him behind.

The reckoning was on his horizon. There would soon be a time where the decisions he made would close the door on the love he once knew permanently.

He continued to remind himself…

_Skyrim. It is all for Skyrim…_


	35. Ralof II

**Impossible chapter is impossible.**

**I have tried writing this…forever. I'm not 100% happy with it (well, except for the middle part)…but I just need it off of my screen. I need to move on. Some stuff just needs to happen to progress the story, and this is one of those chapters. Hopefully the next few will move along smoother and I can return to my normal pace of updating.**

**So, just to update everyone…I have three fractured toes from my snowmobile accident and I'm hobbling around on crutches now (which I fail at miserably). My office was flooded on the weekend and things have been insanely busy there. And I'm writing a Skyrim collaboration with another fantastic author on this site, johmatmarkun. If you are not faint of heart, aren't afraid of a little violence, sex and grit, then by all means…please check it out. It's called **_**A Passion for Retribution**_** and you can find it through my profile. It's definitely not anything like this story…so not sure if my regular readers will like it, but it's loads of fun, and my new best bud is totally inspiring!**

**Anyhow…welcome back to Marieka's story. Thanks so much for the reviews, faves and alerts. You guys rock my socks continuously…**

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><p><em>Ralof II<em>

It could have been a very uncomfortable wagon ride. Marieka had insisted that she needed to see the Greybeards ahead of finding the Blades in Riverwood, and she mentioned that she wished to go alone. Ralof and Brynjolf looked at each other then, uncertain if her not being there as a bridge would prove a mistake. She relented and agreed to travel with them until the wagon passed Ivarstead.

There wasn't complete silence during the trip, but as it began early in the morning, the three passed in and out of consciousness for a great deal of it. The points at which they'd all been awake, nothing more than fleeting small talk was made. And none of it did much to develop a rapport between the two Nords.

As it was, they were finally at that point in the journey. The wagoner advised he would not make unnecessary stops – that it was too dangerous, especially during this part of the journey. Marieka sighed, preparing herself to step off of the moving cart. As she reached the edge of it and readied herself, Brynjolf reached for her hand, squeezing it. They exchanged a glance; one that told Ralof all he needed to know about the two.

She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. "See you in Riverwood, Ralof. I'll not be long, Bryn."

"Best not," he replied. "I'll come for you myself if you are."

"You've proven yourself in that regard. Stay safe," she said, once again stepping to the edge of the wagon, and finally jumping. It moved slowly enough that she could easily disembark, but a wrong step could have spelt injury.

Ralof watched the other man carefully. He hadn't taken his eyes off of her. He watched the woman walk away and when she turned the path to head towards the Ivarstead, she looked back to the wagon. When she realized he was still looking, she waved and he reciprocated. She disappeared from sight, and he continued to look into the distance, as if watching where she had come from would keep her safer.

Eventually Ralof tired of the silence.

"So," he began, "you must be the Nord Marieka told us of."

Brynjolf lifted his head from where it hung in his hands and looked towards the front of the wagon where he sat. "What's that?"

"She told us of a man she…was quite fond of. A Nord," he replied. "I can only imagine that it was you she spoke of."

He looked straight ahead and smiled to himself. "Aye," he said. "I suppose I am."

Ralof relaxed a bit, recognizing the man had a soft side. So many Nords would slit a man's throat for suggesting anything like that.

"Tell me about yourself, Nord," he said. "We still have a ways to go and I'm frustrated with the sound of the wheels on this cart. Brings back terrible memories."

"Not much to tell. Been living in Riften for a long time now. Have a stand in the market."

Ralof smirked. "Perhaps I don't know Marieka that well, but she doesn't sound like she would fall for just a merchant," he said. He put his hands up defensively. "Not that there's a problem if you really are. Merchants are good people. But she just seems… that settling down isn't in her nature."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Brynjolf replied. "It's a difficult path…the one that fate has set out before her."

The Nord nodded in agreement. "Being the Dragonborn cannot be an easy thing to accept."

"She told you?" he asked.

"She did," Ralof said, nodding. "My group…our blacksmith's son confronted her about it. Seemed a little hesitant to do so."

A subtle smile came to Brynjolf's lips. "She's come a long way. Makes me happy to hear that she told you." He shifted on the bench of the wagon, leaning back and draping an arm over the side of the cart. "And what of yourself, Ralof? You have family in Riverwood?"

He nodded. "I grew up there. Lived there for many years before this rebellion came to the forefront. Since I joined with the Stormcloaks, I've travelled extensively. I rarely return to Riverwood to see my family…my sister."

"So, is this the first you've seen her in…"

"_Many_ months," Ralof interjected. "Ah, Gerdur. I miss the runt. She's got a big mouth, but now she all but runs Riverwood because of it." He shrugged. "Any family on your end?"

"None to be spoken of," Brynjolf said. "Unless you count Marieka."

Ralof chuckled. "For your sake, I suggest you do. The woman threatened to set me on fire. Can't imagine what she'd do to you if you denied her that way."

"That sounds like her."

They once again were met with silence, though it was not uncomfortable at least. As more time passed, the snows of the northern skies were replaced by a hint of warmth when they traversed the southern slopes of the Throat of the World. The wagon they travelled in was ultimately destined for Falkreath with a brief stop at the White River before it turned southwest to continue on.

Ralof held his weapon close at hand as the wagon slowly made its way past seemingly abandoned ruins. The air was still, save for the chirping of some insistent songbird. He wasn't nervous about an encounter…bandits would taste the edge of his axe if they came. Still, he looked forward to getting to see his sister, and without incident at that.

At the very least, neither Nord were uncomfortable with just remaining quiet. The rest of the trip to Riverwood would be uneventful and silent – and that suited both of them fine.

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><p><em>How could a mere two days make such a difference?<em>

Ralof nodded at Brynjolf as he approached him on the porch of the Sleeping Giant Inn. He was carrying two large mugs of mead and passed one to the blond as he leaned against the railing, looking towards the Trader. He gladly accepted the drink and they held their mugs high, toasting to nothing in particular. Several large gulps later and Brynjolf joined the man in leaning against the railing.

What started out as uneasy silence quickly grew to a quiet respect…and eventually a friendly banter. The men had rapidly begun to appreciate each other's company as they waited for Marieka to return from the Throat of the World, meeting once again with the Greybeards and who knows what else she needed to do.

"How do you stand it?" Ralof suddenly asked.

Brynjolf raised an eyebrow at him. "Not sure what you mean, friend."

"This waiting," he replied. "Considering Marieka's been off fighting battles for the Stormcloaks for quite some time, I can only assume you do a _lot_ of waiting."

"Ah," he said. "That. Have to keep busy. Especially since she tends to get herself hurt far too often." Ralof could see the man clenching his jaw.

"Tougher than she looks though," he said.

"Aye." Brynjolf nodded in agreement.

Ralof shifted his weight, further leaning on the railing. "So...trouble with Ulfric huh?"

Brynjolf sighed. "You might say that."

"Eh," the Nord replied, "I wouldn't worry so much about him. He's too busy with the war to cause you so much trouble."

"Could be," he said. "But that doesn't mean I'm not certain the man wouldn't hire an assassin."

Ralof laughed heartily. "Ulfric is not one to let someone else fight his battles. Besides...near as I can tell, the woman adores you. And he respects her enough to leave you be."

He smiled inwardly, about to reply when a bellowing roar sounded – something familiar. The two men looked at each other before bounding down the steps to the main pathway through Riverwood. From their vantage on the ground, they could see nothing but panicked guards at the gate to the settlement. Neither was heavily armed, but always carried the most base level of weaponry at the very least. They advanced upon the location of the guards, ready for whatever manner of beast come their way – or at least, until they discovered what it was.

The two Nords froze in place. The massive wingspan of a green behemoth stretched out above the tops of the trees, causing them to shiver and lose foliage with every flap. A chill ran through Ralof – the beast reminded him of the great creature that had essentially saved his life with its appearance back in Helgen, though it very nearly burned him completely as he escaped the settlement. This dragon was nowhere near the size of that one, but at this point in time, he was not about to wage internal war with himself by comparing the two. A dragon was a dragon was a dragon...and this was _certainly_ a dragon. Nervously, he continued to approach the guards, stepping lightly and taking cover behind building corners.

Brynjolf, on the other hand, didn't know whether to drop to the ground or flee completely. It wasn't as though he'd never seen a dragon – he'd just seen them at _very_ comfortable distances up to this point. How does one react to a foe of unknown ability...unknown strength? The dragon – so close to where he stood – was massive. It would be the largest opponent he ever faced; provided he summoned the courage to join in the fight. He caught Ralof moving forward slowly, following the shadows of the buildings to not draw its attention. The small axe he carried was at the ready, though the man did not appear overly enthusiastic about being in the correct proximity to the beast in order to use it. Brynjolf decided to follow the Nord's lead, and with hands on daggers, slipped in between two buildings as he moved ahead.

Both men watched carefully as the dragon began to descend to the ground. It would surely breathe some sort of enchanted breath upon the guards who were attacking it with arrows and bolts. The guards would have been singed by its heat...or perhaps even frozen in their tracks. Surely the guards couldn't have thought that their pathetic arrows would have even pierced the great beast's scaly outer layers of skin. Still, they refused to give up in defense of their small village. _A refreshing notion_, Ralof thought, _if not foolhardy._

Just as the dragon's tremendous body was about to touch the ground, a crack of thunder sounded and with it, a flash of lightning that struck the beast, prompting it to ascend for a moment. It flapped its wings, spinning around in place before facing away from Riverwood.

_What could have drawn its attention?_

The question was answered almost as quickly as it popped into Ralof's mind. He heard a voice cry out – almost as deep and forceful as that of the dragon.

"Tiid klo ul!"

Brynjolf darted out from between the buildings in a panic. "Marieka!" he cried out, fear colouring his voice.

There was no answer – at least, not to his cry.

"Wuld!" came her voice once more, and the two saw a blur of motion as she came to a halt and settled into a crouched stance behind the dragon. The dragon itself slowed to a mere crawl and began to turn towards her new location – but its movements were delayed tremendously. She took advantage of its forced hesitation and looked back over her shoulder at those that had gathered in the street behind her.

"Get back!" she shouted. "Get out of the street!"

"Marieka!" Brynjolf called again.

"Brynjolf...go!"

He hesitated for a moment, but even at that distance, could see the look on her face. She was serious. She was confident. She would take care of this on her own. He couldn't help but swallow hard as he felt a sense of pride wash over himself over the side of her he was seeing. He glanced sideways to where Ralof stood. The Nord looked at him and shook his head, shrugging. He rushed towards where Brynjolf stood.

"What do we do?" he asked.

"We do as she says," the thief replied. "I have faith in her."

"Dragonborn..."

Ralof could hardly believe what he was witnessing, never really having the opportunity to see her fight so close. He saw Marieka draw her weapon, a formidable piece with an ebony swirled hilt and pommel. She drove the tip into the thick scales of the dragon; the blade slid much easier once the scales were breeched. Though when she pulled at the hilt, it wouldn't budge, having lodged itself under the dragon's skin.

She kicked the tail of the beast as she cursed the loss of the blade to it and took several steps backward. With her hands up, palms facing the dragon, she saw it open its tremendous maw, sending forth a fireball from its gullet. The ball of flames seemed to head directly for her, and she tucked into herself, rolling out of the way, landing hard against a tree.

Seeing his immediate panic, Ralof placed a hand on Brynjolf's arm in a feeble attempt to reassure him. Though it wasn't as necessary as he thought, for Marieka quickly picked herself up off the ground, facing down the dragon once more. She was not nearly as quick as before, but her hands returned to the front, electrical current crackling in one and a ball of frost forming in the other.

The dragon again advanced upon her; its steps were now quicker, prompting her to send the elemental energies from both of her palms towards it. It howled as the bolt of current struck its tremendous foot, travelled through its chest and down the other leg towards the ground. Seconds later it was struck by a blast of frost, covering much of the left side of its body with a thin, white film. It drew in another breath, expelling a flare of heat and light towards her once more. She sidestepped again, this time successfully jumping out of the way. She continued on, hurling her magic at it; hopping out of the way as it tried to counter. Eventually, she recognized it was losing its ability to fight and turned back towards Riverwood.

"Now!" she demanded. "Loose your arrows!"

The guards – slightly surprised by her sudden insistence to fight – jumped back towards where she stood in front of the dragon, drawing their bows and loading their arrows. Several guards armed with blades approached quickly on foot and surrounded the dragon.

Marieka stood among them, and before any of the guards were close enough to the beast, she let out one further word – "Krii..."

Wind swirled around her feet and pushed towards the dragon, lifting dead leaves and flower petals into the air with it. Its legs gave way, crashing to the ground with a furious thud. The guards that surrounded it pounced upon it with their blades, driving them into its thick skin. She walked solemnly towards the rear of the beast, placing a foot on its hindquarters and pulling her blade from its back with all her strength. She wiped away at the blade and re-sheathed it at her waist, returning to the head of the beast.

As its eyes closed, she placed her hand upon its snout...waiting for it to take its final breath. When its head settled upon the ground, she knelt down before it, resting her forehead upon its nose. Ralof could see her mouth moving – she spoke to it...whispered something...something important...reverential.

And when she stood, everyone watched as the skin of the beast began to disintegrate – great light and energy leaving its body and flowing through the air; forming a connection to her. It was all Ralof could do to keep his jaw from falling to the ground in front of him. He had never witnessed such a thing – never witnessed the moment that the dovah became part of the dovahkiin. It was surreal...beautiful...a gift.

Marieka waited until the moment the flashes subsided before turning around to face the crowd that had gathered. But when she did, the guards…the townsfolk…Ralof and Brynjolf…they were all there – looking at her. Ralof saw her grit her teeth – an attempt to be brave in the face of so much attention. Still, from his discussions with Brynjolf in her absence, this appeared to be a positive step for her. Her strength was finally beginning to show through…she wasn't hiding her abilities any longer. She embraced them and had actually kept everyone safe. All were alive.

He watched her as she looked across the assembled group, ignoring the awed looks and cries of disbelief. Her eyes fell upon Brynjolf and she smiled…a smile that lit up her entire face. She ignored everything else that surrounded her and stepped towards him with purpose. When they met, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly, as she melted into his touch. His hand lifted to the side of her face, cupping her cheek and reaching into her hair.

"Mari," he whispered. "That was…incredible."

And for the first time, Ralof realized just how secretive the woman had been with _everyone_, including the man she quite obviously held above all else.

He didn't wish to intrude upon their reunion. He returned to his sister Gerdur's home, leaving them to stand among the townsfolk and guards who remained. Despite the crowd, they were the only two people that stood at the gate of the settlement…they were the only ones that mattered…

* * *

><p>"Wait," Ralof said, shocked at what he had just heard the girl say. "You did what? You <em>spoke<em> to a dragon? Why didn't you kill it?"

"Paarthurnax is not just any dragon, Ralof," she advised. "He leads the Greybeards…teaches the Way of the Voice to them. He is a powerful and very ancient being, but I have no fear of him. He will help me. And now I must speak with the Blades. Determine what they know. Find out what we need to do next."

"So, this…Alduin," Brynjolf began. "He is the dragon that is awakening all the others?"

She nodded. "And we must destroy him. Paarthurnax did not even deny that, despite that he is the brother of the one we must slay."

"Do you think the Blades will know what to do?" Ralof asked. They had discussed the group – and Delphine and Esbern's involvement in it.

"I can only hope," she said. "Otherwise…" She sighed loudly. Despite all that she had learned, she still had no answers. And it frustrated her to no end.

Ralof smiled. "Delphine is a smart woman, Marieka. She'll know what to do. You should speak with her without further delay."

She looked at both of them. "I…am happy that both of you travelled with me. It has been…very helpful to have you here."

He knew she referred to the moment that the dragon's soul merged with her own. And he thought that it probably had more to do with Brynjolf's presence rather than his own, but he was happy to accept her words regardless.

"You should rest, Mari," Brynjolf suggested. "You've barely had time to breathe."

She shook her head. "Unfortunately love, this isn't going to wait while I catch my breath. But I promise you this…when this nonsense with the dragons is over…_and_ the war…I _will_ make it up to you."

Ralof laughed heartily. "That sounds like an offer I'd not refuse, Brynjolf. I suggest you take it."

The thief pulled her close, draping his arm over her shoulder. "One day, Mari. One day you will be able to live for yourself. And on that day, I will be a happy man."

She looked at him with a pout. "You mean you're not happy now?"

He pulled her in close and kissed her cheek. "Lass, if you plan on getting out of here anytime soon, I suggest you do it soon, lest I not let you out of my sight ever again."

She smiled and stood up. "Ralof, your family has been nothing but generous in allowing us into your home and I'd never wish to impose. But I do not know what the coming days hold for me with the Blades."

"Say no more, Marieka," he replied. "I'm a hospitable fellow. Brynjolf is welcome to wait for your return here. As will I."

She reached out and squeezed his hand. "You're a good friend, Ralof. I shall speak to the Blades and we'll go from there, no?"

Without a further word, she all but skipped off to discover just what her next task would be. At the very least, she had gained her confidence back.

And both Nords left in her wake had gained something just as important – friendship…support…and a good drinking buddy. If that didn't make the waiting for word on the dragons bearable, then Ralof didn't know _what _would.


	36. Esbern II

**So first, I need to acknowledge uesp dot net and elderscrolls dot wikia dot net for making my prophecy and wall research so much easier. Without those sites, I'd have to do all my research in game, which is tedious to say the least.**

**Yeah…so guess what came in the mail today. A little thing called the four disc set of the Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim game soundtrack. Yup. It's like liquid inspiration. Well…if it were liquid, that is. What an incredible thing this is. I've never felt more moved by a soundtrack, let alone a game soundtrack in my life. One scene I've written in particular was quite emotionally overwhelming as I listened to a track entitled 'Standing Stones' – almost appropriate as Marieka stood reflecting upon Alduin's Wall. Phew…**

**Anyhow, I truly hope this is the sign of things to come for me, because if so, my inspiration is back and nothing will be forced again for quite some time. This story is deeply personal to me now…some events have occurred to reaffirm my adoration for what I have written to this point and for what is to come. I almost stopped writing this. I almost did.**

**But I'm not going to let anything or anyone stop me from bringing this story to its completion.**

**Thank you all for your support – and to those of you who can't offer that, I understand. I can only say to you that I'm writing from the heart…whether you can believe that or not is up to you.**

**Thanks for sticking with me…**

* * *

><p><em>Esbern II<em>

_I would rather take your punch  
>Than not give you a shot<br>I'd rather find out who you are  
>Than who you're not<em>

"_Fight Outta You", Ben Harper and the Innocent Criminals, (Harper, Nelson, Charles, Mobley, Yates, Ward)_

* * *

><p>In theory, this plan should work perfectly.<p>

But then, Esbern was hard-pressed to say that _anything_ ever worked out where he was concerned. Still, he and Delphine had no real choice but to accept the fact that with the help of a Dragonborn…with the help of Marieka…that they would be able to enter the Sky Haven Temple. And with any luck, there would be information within – _vital_ information that would hold the key to defeating Alduin.

Since his arrival in Riverwood, Esbern focused his efforts on research. Delphine had collected a number of important tomes and texts from which to draw the necessary information, but had never seen to it to truly study them herself. He considered that was probably for the best anyway – he was, after all, the primary historical specialist for the Blades. This was not surprising considering how the order was all but annihilated by the Thalmor so many years prior. With so few of them left – and in fact, only he and Delphine to truly speak of – there was no question that he was the authority on all things history.

Therefore, Delphine's collection of historical records became instantly useful to the man. He spent days poring over her copy of _Annals of the Dragonguard_ alone and everything in the tome pointed towards the answers being found at the temple. There they would find Alduin's Wall, of which Esbern could only assume was literally a wall carved by the Akaviri Dragonguard somewhere within the temple's confines. Further research gave him clues as to where to find the temple, and the fact that the Dovahkiin would be required in order to access the inner sanctum of the place. A blood seal had been created to prevent just anyone from entering the temple – after all, the purpose was to assist future generations in their coming battles against Alduin and his brethren. The temple was only to be accessed by a future Dragonborn so that they could look upon the wall and learn the secrets of those who came before.

Esbern learned all of this as he and Delphine awaited Marieka's return to Riverwood.

And _finally_, she arrived.

"Do you think Nirn has the time to wait for you to dally, girl?" Esbern remarked the second she had made her presence known.

"Nice to see you too, Esbern," she muttered.

"Sassing me already, I see," he grumbled.

She sighed. "Look, I'm not back here to get involved in petty disputes with you. I'm back here because the dragon threat has increased. They are becoming bolder. They're not simply circling overhead anymore." She scratched her head, pulling her hair back in frustration. "They've started to attack settlements. And not just places like here…I'm talking about the walled cities. Windhelm…Riften…Whiterun. So I trust that I've given you enough time to do the research you needed to do."

"Bah!" he scoffed. "Too much time, if you're asking. I've run out of things to do."

"My apologies then Esbern. I didn't realize you were too busy doing _nothing_ to help out with the dragon that attacked Riverwood this morning," she growled. "Or are you so used to your hermit lifestyle that you can't be bothered to look out a window?"

"A dragon attacked here?"

"You're kidding me, right?" she exclaimed. "You cannot tell me that you haven't heard of the dragon attack. Even if no one has told you about it, you can't say you didn't _hear_ the bloody thing!"

"What's that, you say?" he snorted in derision. "My ears aren't so good these days."

"Crazy old man," she griped. "Bet you heard that, didn't you?"

He smirked at her, before turning to see Delphine entering the room.

"You know, it's quite difficult to conceal the fact that we have a hidden room down here with you two arguing like you are," the woman pointed out.

"Delphine," Esbern began, "advise your fellow Breton that I tire of her nonsense and no longer wish to speak to her."

Marieka rolled her eyes. "For such an old man, you certainly are childish."

Delphine groaned. "Just…_stop_ it. Both of you. I have managed to secure a wagon to take us partway to Karthspire. Or perhaps _I_ should take the wagon and the two of you can find your own way there." She shook her head and headed to a chest in the corner of the room. She crouched down to open it up and rifled through the contents. "Apparently there is also a camp of Forsworn located nearby as well. I suggest you prepare yourself for a fight," she advised, looking back over her shoulder.

The younger woman looked over at Esbern who was giving her a look she didn't appreciate. She expelled a harsh breath.

"I'll be ready within the hour," she said, spinning on her heel and leaving them alone.

When she had vacated the room, Delphine stood and turned to look at Esbern. "Why do you goad her so?"

He shrugged. "It amuses me. We can't have a self-important Dragonborn running around on us, can we? Someone's got to keep the girl in check."

"And if you push her too far, she might just leave us, you know?" Delphine countered.

He shook his head. "No chance. She knows the mission is too important. Besides, I'm trying to see if I can get her to turn a new shade of red one of these days."

She chuckled. "You're lucky you never tried that with me, old man."

"It's always 'old man' with you Bretons, isn't it?" he grumbled. "None of you can see past it for the gentle and kind person that I truly am."

She sighed. "Hopeless, Esbern. You're hopeless."

* * *

><p>"Finally. We come to it at last," Esbern said.<p>

"You always did have a penchant for the dramatic," Delphine replied, rolling her eyes.

"Think of it," he said. "This temple has been sealed for…well, who knows _how_ long it's been locked up tight. We'll be the first to step into it and learn its secrets."

"Wow. That is a _very_ large head. Uh…who…who is it supposed to be?"

Marieka pointed in the direction of the far wall at a face carved into it.

"I'd thought it rather obvious, girl," he replied. "It's Reman Cyrodiil II, the Emperor that the Akaviri sought out as the first Dragonborn."

"Oh, of course," she replied. "The resemblance is…uncanny."

He shot her an annoyed look, but continued to investigate the hall, lowering his torch to the ground.

They'd come very far through the Sky Haven Temple; through its winding hallways, the Breton's adept mind quickly discerning its way through the tricks and traps of this ancient place.

Marieka stood between the two of them, looking back and forth at their faces.

"So…uh…just what do we need to do to get in there?" she asked.

"Well, that would be where you come in, my dear," he said, pulling a dagger from his belt.

Marieka quickly put her hands up in protest and stepped back. "Hey now," she said quickly. "One, I didn't think we were at the 'my dear' stage in our relationship. And two, can we perhaps talk about this before—"

"Esbern, put the bloody dagger away," the older woman growled. "Marieka, you have nothing to fear from the old man. As I said before, he prefers to be histrionic."

"Yes," she replied. "That's plain as day to me now." She nervously rubbed her neck, not removing her eyes from the man.

He sheathed the weapon and looked at her. "Your blood is the key, Dovahkiin. In order for the way to be opened, you will need to shed a few drops."

"Well," she began, "I can certainly take care of that on my own…thank you." She reached to her own belt and pulled a small blade from it. Taking a deep breath, she put the tip of it to the palm of her hand.

"Wait!" Esbern cried out. The two women looked at him, his eyes wild.

"What is it?" Delphine asked, concerned about his outburst.

He responded without a word, grabbing both of Marieka's wrists in his hands. He pulled her roughly towards the centre of the great hall they stood in, placing her above a stone in the floor – different from any of the others. Lines had been carved throughout it, creating a ringed pattern of concentric circles.

"There," he said proudly. "Now you can do it."

She took a breath and once again placed the blade's edge to her palm. A little pressure…a little more…and the skin broke. She watched as the blood from under her skin pooled up into a ball, balancing delicately on her hand. Tipping her hand, it clung to her palm until finally, gravity overtook it and it dripped silently to the ground. She watched as the drop spattered on to the rock in front of her, holding her breath with the others. Esbern looked at her, then at Delphine.

"Why is nothing—"

He shushed Marieka mid-question and they all held their tongues for a moment longer – just enough time to see an eerie glow overtake the stone on the ground. The outer ring spun slowly, groaning and creaking after eons of remaining as a solid entity. The white glow grew and the inner ring was also set in motion. The ghostly light shone brighter and brighter until at last, it dissipated completely.

A quiet settled over the hall; nothing happening to signal that her blood had done anything more than cause a small distraction. But then, a great shaking began, stirring the earth; loosing dust and rocks from the walls and manifesting a tremendous noise. Suddenly, the source of the noise revealed itself, as the huge carved face of the long dead Emperor began to push back into the space behind it, revealing a new corridor.

"See?" Esbern said. "Simple."

Marieka sighed loudly, starting off in the direction of the passage. The Blades followed closely behind, yet neither suspected any further danger. After all, the traps to this point were meant to discourage those who were not the Dragonborn from proceeding. With this last gate passed only by one with the blood of a dovah, there would be no further need to prevent unwelcome visitors.

She began to climb the stairs towards the unknown. The stairwell that had been sealed for so long was dank and musty, yet surprisingly a strange amount of cool air blew down from above. Wherever these stairs would lead, there was at least some hope that they'd not all choke from a suppressing lack of air.

"By the gods," Marieka grumbled. "How many bloody steps _are_ there?"

"Stop whining, girl," he said. "You know, you sure could stand to gain some better traits. Being less whiny…perhaps not complaining so much…oh, and you're starting to smell."

She stopped dead in her tracks and spun around, her pointed finger ready to poke the man's eyeballs out of his skull.

"Esbern, I swear to Oblivion if I didn't need you to find out what will help us stop Alduin, I would—"

"Enough!" Delphine called from behind him. "Just keep moving."

"Fine!" Marieka spun back around and continued up the stairs. "But I'm _not_ starting to smell."

Esbern chuckled quietly to himself, continuing to enjoy her inability to ignore his jabs.

The top of the steps opened up to a doorway – one that led to a grand hall that was dimly lit.

"Finally!" Marieka cried out happily. When she reached the top, she took several steps into the hall, but then froze. "Would you _look_ at that!"

Esbern and Delphine reached where she stood and were obviously awestruck just as much as she was. In front of them – across the hall – stood a tremendous wall that stretched almost the length of the hall itself. It was covered with intricate carvings, the most noticeable of which was a tremendous dragon near the end of it – and it was mirrored at the opposite end as well.

As the old Blade approached the far left side of wall, Marieka sought out the right, looking at the carved figure of the dragon. She eyed it and the small figure in front of him, defending himself from the blast of fire from the dragon's mouth.

"This…this is incredible," Esbern mused. "It's far beyond anything I could have ever thought comprehensible."

Delphine surveyed the carvings as well, quietly hanging back so as not to interfere with the man's study.

"What does…what does it all mean?" Marieka asked.

He looked down the wall towards her and his demeanor changed. He was quiet…reserved…humbled even. His eyes were wide and his face displayed a childlike innocence that the young Breton barely registered as his own.

"This is a gift," he said quietly. "Let me…let me look upon it for some moments, my dear girl. I shall provide you with answers soon."

She continued to stare at the dragon on the wall. Alduin…it had to be Alduin. Who else could it be…for this was _his_ wall? She looked into cold stone eyes of the great beast, trying to read the emotionless head. Thinking perhaps if she could understand his motivations…perhaps she could prevent the war. That she could stop the destruction that she knew would be wrought upon Skyrim…Tamriel…and indeed Nirn were she to fail.

As she stood looking at the form of the dragon, her shoulders slumped, and her body began to shake softly. The tears that welled up in her eyes obscured her vision – gave the motionless carving movement. Its head shook as it stared back at her, daring her to come towards him. Willing her to throw herself to him in sacrifice. Demanding that she fight. She gritted her teeth at the silent challenge; her mind racing. Her thoughts swirling to all of those she knew in Skyrim…the friends she had made…the acquaintances…the shopkeeps and blacksmiths…the soldiers and guards and warriors. Mothers and fathers and sons and daughters.

And most of all…Brynjolf.

She would put her life on the line for all of them. She would be relentless. And if it meant her end of days, then so be it. She would not let those she loved down…no one would die for her failure.

She would not rest until Alduin was ended.

* * *

><p>The two Breton women sat silently on a raised platform that ran the length of the great hall. Esbern had been staring at the carved wall for what seemed to be hours. He mumbled to himself; incoherent words and whispers echoing quietly throughout the vast expanse.<p>

After an eternity, he finally turned around and looked at them.

"Marieka," he said, "I believe I know what needs to be done."

She stood up slowly; approached him with wide eyes. "Please. Tell me what I must know."

"Let me first tell you of history."

He put his arm around her, leading her back to the beginning of the wall. He extended his arm in the direction of the large carved dragon at the far left of the sculpted wall.

"You can see here the dragons ravaging the land. There is no hope for us against the devastation brought by the great beasts…brought by Alduin. This is he – I know you also saw him later in the wall. But it all begins here," Esbern said. "This is the first appearance of the World Eater. This is his first attempt to destroy Tamriel."

She nodded and he led her on further.

"Yet here is where the humans…where they triumphed over Alduin," he explained. "If there were more here, we could know what to do, but for now, it is only a signpost. A guide to further knowledge. And we will learn how to defeat him, Marieka. This I swear to you."

"Are you sure of that?" she asked, her voice wavering.

He hesitated, but nodded. He ushered her ahead along the wall.

"Several events occur here – they are all prophecies from the time of the Akaviri – the prophecy of the Dragonborn," he said.

"I've…never heard the prophecy," she admitted weakly, afraid of what he'd say for her lack of knowledge.

"Few have," he replied, shocking her greatly. "There are many pieces to it, and each piece is represented on this wall."

He pointed to a figure with a staff in hand. "See here? 'When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world' – represented by the Staff of Chaos. The staff that was split into eight pieces after Jagar Tharn imprisoned Emperor Uriel Septim VII in Oblivion." He saw confusion on her face. "Never mind. It's not important that you know much about it…only that the prophecy was made and came to pass."

She nodded and looked back at the wall.

"And here," – he pointed to an obviously Dwemer construct, a golum of some sort – "'when the Brass Tower walks and time is reshaped'. The Numidium. It was destroyed after it assisted in bringing the Aldmeri Dominion to its knees – but as the prophecy says, it was reshaped…it walked once more."

He pointed towards a large mountain-shaped carving. "This is Vvardenfell, an island in Morrowind. 'When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles' – this particular mountain erupted, spewing ash on to the surrounding lands forcing so many of the islands' inhabitants to flee. Another prediction come to pass."

He continued on, Marieka at his side.

"Here is an Oblivion gate. 'When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls.' This obviously refers to the end of the Septim line of leadership. The death of Uriel Septim VII, and the transformation of Martin into the Avatar of Akatosh, ending the Oblivion Crisis. Terrible time. And of course, the Empire stumbled in those days."

He pointed to another section of the wall – a conflict evident. "And here we come to the present time. The murder of the High King of Skyrim and the looming civil war. 'When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding…' This is when Alduin was prophesied to return to Tamriel…and so he has."

Marieka found herself staring back at the final carving once more…the image of Alduin in a standoff with the small figure holding the shield.

"This is Alduin, is it not?" she asked, despite already knowing the answer.

He nodded. "And this, my dear," he began, "is you. The Akaviri Dragonguard didn't quite get everything right. You're much smaller than this one." He put a hand on her shoulder. "And quite a bit more feminine as well."

She couldn't help but smile at the old man's joke.

"'The World-Eater wakes, and the wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn.'"

She swallowed hard. "There isn't much hope, Esbern," she said sadly. "I can see that now."

"There is always hope, Marieka," he replied. "It may be difficult to see, but it is always there. One need only know where to look."

"Then where do I look?" she asked.

"The key lies in the initial defeat of Alduin," he replied, returning to the second portion of the frieze where Alduin is shown falling from the skies. "The humans here…they seem to have used a shout to bring him down. It would seem to me that the only logical place to begin to look for that shout is to return to High Hrothgar."

"Ooooh no," Delphine interrupted. "The Greybeards, Esbern? Do we _really_ need to involve them?"

"If this shout is the only way to bring down Alduin," Marieka began, "then I will do whatever it takes to learn of it. And I don't understand why you don't wish to include the Greybeards anyhow."

"Because they sit upon their great thrones…atop their mountain at the Throat of the World – ignorant and blind to the strife the dragons bring to the world below them," she growled. "They would rather ignore the conflict until the world crumbles around them. They care nothing of our problems, Marieka."

"They will help me," Marieka countered. "I know they will."

"As you say," the woman replied. "Go off to your monks. See what they say."

"Do what you can, Marieka," Esbern said. "You must learn that shout. There may be no other way to defeat Alduin, and we know no one else who can turn the tide."

"Thank you Esbern," she replied. "Will you both remain here?"

Delphine nodded. "Yes, we will. This place was meant for the Blades…and you of course. It will always be a home to the Dragonborn."

She smiled. "I will set off for High Hrothgar then…with no delays. I'll return to you as soon as I know more about this shout."

"Safe journeys, Dovahkiin," he said. And meant it. He was finished with pushing her…he saw the pain on her face as her faith in herself was tested once more. She needed people to believe in her, and the Blades would be there in that capacity.

Yet somehow, as if she needed to test that theory for herself, she turned back to him once more before leaving the hall and setting out on her journey.

"Esbern…I don't really smell, do I?"

He chuckled and shook his head, smiling widely at her.

"You smell fine, Marieka," he called out to her. "Besides…there are plenty of rivers along the way…just in case."

She narrowed her eyes at him before spinning around once more and heading off.

He promised himself it was the last joke he'd ever make at her expense. And it remained a promise kept.


	37. Brynjolf XI

**New chapter...FINALLY!**

**So, about a week before I fractured my toes (about a month and a half ago, I think?), I commissioned shutterbones on DeviantArt to paint me some Brynjolf and Marieka. She finished about a week ago, but as I've been wallowing in the depths of writer's block hell (yes, I am **_**absolutely**_** going to be that melodramatic about it), I just haven't been able to let you all know about it here (unless you watch me over on dA as well).**

**Either way, it's right here, so check it out fav . me / d4uke20 (as always, no spaces). You will need to have an account on dA to see it, so if you'd rather not sign up, feel free to get in touch with me and I'll see what other options we have for you.**

**So anyway, the image has inspired me a little. I threw on the soundtrack to **_**Inception**_** as well – specifically the song 'Time', which was on repeat while I wrote the majority of this. Finally, a suggestion from a friend to introduce a particular character also inspired parts of this chapter and he **_**should **_**technically know what I'm talking about once he reads it. Personally, I hope it means that he posts a particularly inspiring piece of work that I've partially read, but hey…I'm not gonna push. (I want to read chapter six damn it!) ;p Also, Brynjolf's eyes. Hard to see, but I think they're green. So that's how they're playing out in this chapter. Correct me if I'm wrong…but it's what I see in screenshots.**

**Another shout out to those who have faved, alerted, are new to reading or continue to do so. You also inspire me to keep going (though I apologize for the speed with which I'm doing so). Seriously folks...I continue to meet some amazing people because of this story. Don't ever hesitate to contact me if you feel the urge – the folks with whom I have epic conversations now I'm sure can attest to how excited I am to chat with everyone. You guys make it worth my while and continue to give me some great ideas for this story.**

**Right then. On with the show...**

* * *

><p><em>Brynjolf XI<em>

_See if I'm breathing  
>Because I'm not sure tonight if I'm alive<br>Words are demeaning…they can't describe_

_Submerge within the light  
>Illuminate my night<br>And let your atmosphere surround me  
>Submerge within the light…all night<br>'Til we become the sun…_

"_Submerge: 'Til We Become the Sun", Maxwell (Musze)_

* * *

><p>"It's not that I don't want to go to Winterhold, Marieka. But…isn't it a little close to the College?"<p>

She smiled at him then; a smile of reassurance and uncertainty simultaneously. Though it served to make Brynjolf all but forget his concerns about the proximity to the College nonetheless.

"It _is_ close to the College, love," she said. "But…it isn't likely at all that Onmund would head into the city for anything. You'll be fine. Besides…he doesn't even know who you are."

He looked down at her, taking a step closer and placing a hand at her cheek. "We'll go," he said. "And you're right. I've got nothing to worry about. In any case, I've sworn to protect you in your journeys and it means I'm to go to places that make even _my_ knees tremble."

"Ah, my thief in shining armour." She closed her eyes and allowed her cheek to press into his fingers gently. "We haven't travelled together often on our own, have we Bryn? This could prove to be an interesting journey, don't you think?"

As she opened her eyes, she let a cheeky grin cover her face. He pointed his finger and tapped her nose lightly.

"And just _what_ do you have going on in that pretty little head of yours?"

"It's a long journey from here to Winterhold," she said. "Especially on horseback. Just don't be surprised if I suggest we stop more than once to…rest. Yes…that's it…to rest."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Is that what we're calling it these days?"

"Why Brynjolf," she exclaimed innocently. "Whatever do you mean?"

She giggled into his chest as he pulled her close. When she turned her face from him, placing her ear close to him and listening to his heartbeat, he smiled down at her. It felt odd to be in Riverwood, so far away from Riften and for so long, but the days passed quickly – which was surprising, especially since so many of them were spent away from Marieka.

Her second visit to the Throat of the World prompted this new journey to the College of Winterhold. She had spoken little about it since returning, though did seem incredibly more on edge about _something_. And it wasn't something Brynjolf could put his finger on, but he also didn't wish to pry. As always, she would let him know when the time was right.

But for now, her nerves were focused on something else – getting back on a horse once more.

He smiled at her apprehension; once again noting how she was not afraid to involve herself in the slaying of dragons, yet continued to feel the rising of nerves when faced with the prospect of equine transportation. The thought caused him to smile more. She had truly come into her own in recent months. She was becoming a stronger mage; a stronger _person_. She'd finally allowed herself to embrace her own destiny, and she insisted it had so much to do with him. He wasn't so sure he had anything to do with it, but who was he to argue?

As they prepared for the journey, he couldn't help but notice the subtle way she continued to glance at him. She would look away from him when his eyes met hers in this silly manner that caused him to smile internally. They'd shared so much of their lives with each other, but she still felt nervous around him. Still felt shy. He thought it to be an endearing quality about her – that she would continue to act so timid around him at times. It was usually a sign that indicated she was actually uneasy about something entirely different. Of course he could only think it meant whatever it was she needed to do beyond the help the College would provide.

Ralof was there to send them on their way. He had found the pair a reliable horse named Vidar; strong enough and fast enough for the journey they were about to take. He clasped forearms with Brynjolf and hugged Marieka tight as he said his goodbyes. They would return eventually, but Ulfric was right – the dragons needed to be dealt with before the Stormcloaks could defend against the Empire.

As Brynjolf settled on to their mount, he could hear Marieka's heavy breathing – even from the distance he was to the ground. The animal stood proudly, its coat a shiny deep brown and its mane even darker. He had flashes of white hair at his hindquarters, his forehead and at the tip of his nose. She walked to the front of the horse, placing a gentle hand upon his crown.

"Please don't throw me off of you, Vidar," she whispered to him. The horse grunted in response. As her face scrunched up, Brynjolf extended his hand towards her.

"You'll be fine, love," he said. "I know it's been awhile, but you'll be just fine."

She nodded and walked towards him, clasping his hand and allowing Ralof to assist her up as well. He felt her scoot close to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and holding tight. Admittedly, he loved the feel of her like that, though knew it meant her discomfort. But he also knew she would ease up eventually; she would regain her confidence and feel better about being on horseback once again. But for the moment, he was happy to be her comfort.

* * *

><p>"I think we're closer to Windhelm," she said, peering around him at the signpost in the road while holding on tight. To the east was Windhelm; to the northwest, Dawnstar. Winterhold was directly north, but unfortunately cut off by a rather large range of mountains and a terrible blizzard they had only just edged into.<p>

He looked down at her as she appeared at his side and nodded. "I think so too, but..."

"It'll be dark soon enough. We're still at least a good half day's ride from Winterhold at the rate we're travelling. Especially in this weather," she pointed out. "We'd best make our decision soon."

"If we go to Windhelm, there's always Hjerim."

She groaned. "I'd rather not actually go _into_ Windhelm if we can help it."

"You won't hear any argument from me," he agreed. When they last departed the city, it wasn't on the best terms with Ulfric Stormcloak. Perhaps Marieka had resolved some uncertainty there, but the man would likely never let go of what Brynjolf had done to him so many years prior.

"Why don't we head for Dawnstar then?" she suggested. "There may not be stables, but at the very least, we can get some food for Vidar. Can you make it a few more hours, boy?" She patted the horse gently and he whinnied quietly without changing his gait.

"Not a bad idea," Brynjolf replied. "There's bound to be a merchant or two that stops down that way as well. We might even be able to get ourselves a hot meal. You mentioned you'd been to the inn there, right?"

"Yes, I have."

"Dawnstar, it is then," he replied, and pulled the reins in the appropriate direction. Vidar began to pick up speed once more.

The hours passed slowly, but eventually Marieka began to comment on familiar scenery from her last trip to the northern city. They could see the very top of the Nightcaller Temple in the distance. He felt her arms snake tighter around his waist as her head pressed against his shoulder. As the city came into view, they made their approach up the final path towards it. He slowed the horse to a trot and loosened his grip on the reins. He allowed one of his hands to rest upon where hers were clasped, and could almost feel the smile growing upon her face.

It was moments like this…moments where they were the only two on Nirn that mattered. They were the moments that made life worth living.

When they reached the first houses of Dawnstar and Vidar stopped, there was no one in sight. Brynjolf heard Marieka's displeasure, knowing how the dismount was just as nerve-racking for her as the rest of the journey on a horse.

"One day, Mari," he joked, "you're going to get on and off of a horse without complaining. Until that day however, you're lucky that I'll be around to help."

He adjusted himself, turning partially and grabbing her up by the waist. She squeaked as his hands slid under her arms and pulled her from her position. Before he lowered her to the ground though, he pulled her towards the front of him, holding her carefully in his arms. She smiled up at him, stifling a giggle.

"Stop making fun of me, Brynjolf," she demanded, but the expression on her face said she'd never enforce it.

He leaned forward to kiss her forehead. He felt her fingers brush across the stubble on his chin and when he looked at her again, her eyes danced. He gave her a quick wink before lowering her to the ground beside the horse, and then dismounted as well. She grabbed the reins and began to walk Vidar up the main path into the city. As she did so, a young woman appeared in the road ahead.

"A fine evening to you, travellers," the Nord woman called.

"And you," Brynjolf replied. "We were hoping to feed our mount. Perhaps let him rest for the night. And maybe find some dinner and bed of our own."

"I can help you with those requests," he said. "The name's Abelone. I work at the Windpeak Inn, and I'm sure Thoring won't mind if you keep your horse tied there for the night. As for food, there's bound to be some hay stored up over at one of the mines. And perhaps this boy might appreciate a good piece of carrot or two for a treat?" She approached Vidar and patted his head gently. "I'll be happy to take him and tie him up for you."

Marieka smiled at him. "That would be appreciated Abelone." She introduced herself and Brynjolf before asking again about a hot meal and accommodations for the night.

"Wait a moment," she said. "I remember you. You're the one who helped Erandur. You helped him stop the nightmares."

The Breton nodded slowly. "I did. I trust there have been no problems since then."

"Problems," Abelone scoffed. "Well, only your _typical_ problems. But at least we've all been able to sleep soundly since then. In any case, we've got food and comfortable beds at the inn. And I can guarantee you Thoring will let you stay – free of charge considering what you did for this city." She scratched her chin in thought. "Also, if you didn't see it already, one of those caravans pulled up a few hours ago. They'll likely be around for a couple of days. Just up the path there." She pointed back in the direction they had come from.

"Thanks for your help, Abelone," she said, tossing her some septims to take care of Vidar.

"Think nothing of it," she replied. "Your horse is in good hands."

She took the reins and began to walk to horse back towards where the inn stood. Brynjolf nodded to her and led Marieka down the path towards the direction the Nord signalled the caravan had settled in for the next few days.

As they walked towards the caravan, they could see several tents had been erected. The smell of something wonderful wafted towards them – but neither could place it. The sound of a lute hit their ears as they got closer.

"How did we miss this on the way into the city?" Brynjolf asked incredulously.

She looked up at him and smiled, and he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close.

Darkness was settling across the surrounding lands and the light of large campfires could be seen ahead. When they had reached the circled tents, they could see plenty of figures milling about. It seemed almost everyone in the city was there. Several Khajiit were present – evidently members of the caravan – interacting with all kinds of others; humans, elves, and Argonians alike. Brynjolf felt her tug on his arm, insistent on joining in with the others. As they crossed the threshold, they noticed smiling faces everywhere when they looked around. Everyone seemed content…pleased to be a part of the synergy that existed. They walked around for a few moments, trying to take everything in. Their senses were overwhelmed.

She continued to lead him around until she came across a Khajiit sitting cross legged in front of one of the tents. She looked up at Marieka and smiled as she pulled a large wool blanket tightly around her.

"Come to trade, my friend?"

"Actually, I'm more interested in whatever it is that smells _so_ good," she replied, kneeling down next to the Khajiit.

She placed her hands atop Marieka's and smiled widely. "Your nose is overwhelmed by the savoury smells of the Elsweyr fondue. It is a traditional dish from our homeland." She leaned over, peering around the Breton in front of her. "Zaynabi! Bring this one some fondue."

Marieka turned to see another Khajiit woman responding to the request, and then tugged at the leg of Brynjolf's trousers. "Sit, love! We are about to enjoy an exotic food from Elsweyr." She turned quickly back to the trader; an expression of nervousness settling upon her face. "You don't mind if we join you to eat, do you?"

"Nonsense," she replied. "You are more than welcome. We welcome those who welcome us. I am Ahkari. I am pleased that you have decided to visit our caravan this eve."

"This is Brynjolf and I am Marieka, and the pleasure is ours!" she exclaimed as he pulled out a blanket of his own, spreading it out on the ground and sitting next to her. "We've never really had an opportunity to experience one of these travelling caravans. In fact, I'm surprised I haven't seen more in my own travels."

"And I rarely even leave Riften's walls," Brynjolf offered.

"You are from Riften?" Ahkari asked, to which he nodded. "We travel there regularly. Perhaps you will not be strangers the next time we are there, no?"

"I'm certain we will look for you once we're back in the city," she replied.

Zaynabi appeared in front of them with several bowls of the fondue in her hands, eyeing the two suspiciously. "You've not had this before? You will be in for a surprise."

Marieka looked up at her curiously. "What...what exactly do you mean?"

The Khajiit didn't elaborate; instead handing a bowl to each of them.

"Do not mind, Zaynabi," Ahkari advised. "Just enjoy."

She shrugged and took a mouthful of the cheesy substance that filled the bowl in front of her. Brynjolf followed suit, and concluded it tasted as good as it smelled. After eating more of the dish however, he looked to Marieka to see her reaction, and she looked strangely confused.

"What's wrong, Marieka?" he asked. "Are you okay?"

"I...I don't know what I'm feeling," she said, looking at him and then at the Khajiit to her right. "Ahkari, what...what's in this?"

"What do you feel, my friend?" she asked.

"Not normal," she said. "I can feel something...it's...a sensation I can't really put into words. And it's..._moving_."

Ahkari chuckled quietly. "This one is talented in the arcane, yes?"

She nodded. "I'm a mage. Why? Is that why I'm feeling this?"

The Khajiit smiled. "There is something about the fondue that enhances a mage's abilities. The moon sugar, perhaps?"

"Moon sugar?" Marieka exclaimed. "You gave me...moon sugar?"

Brynjolf steadied her as she looked fit to collapse from her knees. "You'll be okay, Mari. I'm surprised you've never come across it before."

"Oh?" she prompted. "And you have?"

He gave her a look that told her she should know better. "Of course I have. You don't work in this business for as long as I have without testing out some of what passes through our hands. As a matter of fact..." His voice trailed off as he looked over at Ahkari. "Perhaps you have something a little more potent we can test out tonight."

She nodded knowingly. "Soon, but not yet. We shall close the caravan soon. And then you may ask your question again."

He smiled and looked again at Marieka. "Don't tense up on me. You'll be fine. I'll be right here to make sure you're safe. It'll be fun."

She rolled her eyes at him. "You know, Bryn, if you're trying to take advantage of me...there are much easier ways."

"It's got nothing to do with that," he replied. "You've got plenty on your mind, and I think perhaps you could use some time away from all that."

"Well," she considered. "I am having difficulty sleeping these days. What, with all the tasks I have ahead of me. Maybe I do need a wee break from the norm. But _only_ for tonight. This is the _only _time I allow you to influence me in this way."

He ruffled her hair gently and leaned in close. "Thief's honour," he whispered into her ear.

* * *

><p>"Ow."<p>

Brynjolf's eyes flew open at Marieka's voice next to him. As his eyes focused, he realized he was looking at the ceiling, and was still lying down. In a bed...or on the floor? No...in a bed. _The inn _– they had managed to secure a room from Thoring the night prior. The sun's rays filtered in through the crack between the thick drapery on the window. He turned his head to the right and saw her sitting up next to him. She had her head in the palms of her hands, resting her elbows on her knees.

"Morning, love." He rolled on to his side and watched as she waved one of her hands at him, shushing him quickly.

"Don't talk so loudly," she mumbled. "My head is just—."

He chuckled quietly. "Turns out skooma makes you thirsty, Mari. You drank an awful lot of mead last night."

"Ah."

"Don't remember?"

She turned her head slightly towards him. He could barely see the slits of her eyes as she peered over at him in discomfort. "I remember the fondue. I remember meeting...some more Khajiit. I remember trading some things. I _vaguely _remember something about you dancing a jig near the fire – oh, and you'll _have_ to remind me of that later, because it hurts too much to laugh right now. But I don't remember much else."

Brynjolf smiled at her recollection, and eased himself up to sit. "You actually remember quite a bit."

"Yes, well...I believe that will be my one and only foray into the illicit world of skooma," she groaned.

"Come here," he said softly. She looked over again and saw him patting his lap. He reached over and guided her head to rest on it and she curled up beside him. As he brushed her hair behind her ears, he smiled to himself. "You remind me of—."

At his pause, she tilted her head to look up at him. "Who, Bryn?"

"I...it's nothing."

She brought her hand gently towards his knee and rested it there. "You don't have to hold things in. You know you can tell me."

"Ah, you don't want to hear about that," he protested. "Besides…you aren't feeling well."

"Brynjolf."

"Yes?"

"Tell me."

He sighed. "You remind me of…Elisabet."

Marieka looked up at him once more. "The woman you were once in love with?"

He nodded, leaning back against the head of the bed. "It was a very long time ago, Marieka. Do you truly wish to know?"

She shifted her position, moving to lie upon her back. "Brynjolf, this is obviously a memory that is difficult for you, but it is also something that has had a profound impact on who you are. Of course I wish to know," she said. "But I also will not push you if you prefer it otherwise."

"Maybe it _is_ time," he admitted. He felt her hand cover his on the bed and she smiled up at him reassuringly, giving him the confidence to continue. "It was so many years ago. I had just returned to Riften from Windhelm. Had made some friends in the Guild. And I met her in the market. She was young and beautiful – a Nord girl. Tall and slender and her hair was a gold the colour of honey. Worked in one of the stalls. We immediately had a connection; a strange sort of bond that I couldn't explain. I learned she had lived there for several years. She was a couple of years older than I was at the time."

He looked down at her; saw she had not taken her eyes off of him.

"We…uh…we spent every waking hour together. I knew I had fallen in love with her. Elisabet was everything I thought I ever wanted in a woman. I'd even…I'd even considered leaving my life as a thief behind for her. I wanted to make her happy, and I visited the Temple. A mere two months after meeting the woman, I had the grandiose idea to ask her to marry me."

He felt her thumb begin to stroke the top of his hand softly and shivered.

"I spent days trying to work up the courage. And eventually, I did. I took her for a walk outside of the city. We went down towards the lake, and when the sun set and the twin moons rose, and the auroras stretched across the skies, I told her. I professed my love for her and told her I wanted to marry her."

He paused. For too long.

"And…what did she say?"

He looked across the room – away from her. "Nothing. She…didn't say anything. She just…left me standing there."

She sat up then, pulling herself to sit as close as she could to him. He felt her hand on his cheek and his eyes met hers again. He placed his hand atop hers and smiled weakly at her.

"Oh Bryn," she said sadly. "That's terrible. I'm…so sorry it happened."

"I quickly discovered why she left me standing there," he continued. "The next day, I encountered her in the market. She barely looked at me, let alone spoke to me. I asked her to forget what happened the night before. That I just wanted to talk to her. She shook her head. And I soon knew why. While I stood there, waiting for her to speak, a tall man – an older Nord – approached her. When he stood next to her, I watched as he slipped his arm around her and kissed her. I couldn't break my eyes away from hers. I couldn't deal with the betrayal."

Marieka continued to look at him with concern in her eyes. He looked down at his lap, fidgeting and pulling the cover up towards him with his free hand.

"I turned around and left her with the man. It would seem I have a penchant for women who are…traditionally unavailable. I didn't find out until later he was actually her husband. She penned me a letter on her way out of the city. As it turns out, her husband had been in Cyrodiil – I don't know why. She didn't tell, and I certainly wasn't about to reply to the letter to find out anything else about the situation. But he unexpectedly returned after three years. And they left Riften. She never said where they were going; only that they were leaving. I suppose it was a blessing really. Better than to be reminded of her every day."

He took a deep breath.

"I was…sorry then," he acknowledged. "But I'm not now. I was young. Evidently foolish."

"You were in love, Bryn," she said. "It happens to the best of us. The naivety, I mean."

He shrugged. "It matters not. The past is long gone. And to be honest, I'm much more interested in what's right in front of me, rather than what I've left behind."

His eyes fell upon the flush of colour that had quickly appeared on her neck and cheeks at his words.

"Speaking of which—," he began. He pulled her close into his arms. "You told me last night to remind you of something."

She looked at him with a smile. "I did? Well, thank the gods for that. I certainly don't know what it was I wanted to tell you. Or…do. Or…well, perhaps you should just tell me what I said?"

He chuckled at her. "My, my. Mead certainly doesn't agree with you, love. Or, perhaps it does. I suppose it's all about where the benefits lie. And considering you forgot to dress before you fell asleep last night, I'm certainly happy to be graced with the vision of you this morning."

"Oh Bryn," she giggled. "Just tell me."

"Oh, alright," he conceded. "You told me you had something to give me. But you were so tired and couldn't remember where you had put it."

"And I'm supposed to remember now?"

He shrugged. "Don't get angry with _me_. _You_ were the one who couldn't remember last night!"

She sat for a few moments in thought. He could see the gears turning in her head, and eventually her eyes lit up and she jumped out of his grasp. She knelt by the side of the bed and retrieved a small pouch – one that was typically reserved for the storage of alchemical ingredients. She slipped her hand inside of it and a smile spread across her face.

"Ah ha!" she exclaimed. "Even when I do not have all my faculties, I am coherent enough to remember where I would always keep such things."

He looked at her, crinkling his nose up. "What are you talking about?"

"It's one of the last things I actually remember about last night," she said, pulling out an even smaller pouch from the one she held.

"What is this, lass?" he asked as she placed the small pouch in his outstretched hand.

She settled back down on to the bed next to him, excitedly watching as he began to untie the pouch's strings.

"I saw it when we visited the caravan," she said with a smile.

He tipped the pouch and a small ring fell into his hand. It was silver and encrusted with sparkling emeralds. "Marieka. What is this? It's not my name day."

She giggled. "Do you honestly think I need an excuse like a name day to give you a gift? I saw it, and the emeralds…they reminded me so much of your eyes. I just had to give this to you."

"It's…fantastic. And I…no one's ever just…_given_ me a gift like this," he said quietly, testing it on a couple of fingers before settling on one. He pulled her close and hugged her tightly. "Thank you, Marieka. I love it." He kissed her temple. "And I love you."

She pulled away from him and flipped on to her knees in front of him. "And I you. Perhaps you'll let me show you how much?"

He smirked at her a little. "I thought you weren't feeling well."

"You underestimate my healing capabilities, love." She lifted her leg to straddle his lap and pulled herself close to him. "Besides, you have some bad memories I need to help you forget."

He smiled at her and closed his eyes as her hands wrapped around behind his back. The present was so much better than the past anyhow…

* * *

><p>Having retrieved Vidar and prepared themselves for the rest of the journey to Winterhold, Marieka and Brynjolf mounted the horse and began a slow and steady pace along the city's main road. He nodded to Abelone as they passed the inn and thanked her once more for her help.<p>

As they passed the caravan on their way out of the city, one of the Khajiit from the evening prior made his way towards them.

"Good day to you, my friends. Heading towards your college now, Marieka?"

"Uh, yes. We are."

Brynjolf felt her shift nervously on the horse behind him.

"I thank you once more for agreeing to help me. It means so much to me that someone who was a stranger yesterday was so willing to help," the Khajiit said with a smile.

"Oh, of course," she replied. "Always…willing to help. Well…we're off."

He nodded. "Good luck to you both. We will see you again soon, I hope."

Brynjolf waved and guided the horse onward. When some distance had been put between them and the city, she spoke once more.

"Bryn?" The voice from behind him was uncertain.

"Yes Mari?"

"Who was that?"

He chuckled to himself. "Why, that was Kharjo…a noble Khajiit warrior who you agreed to help last night."

"Oh." A pause. "And just what did I agree to do?"

"Some bandits stole his amulet. There should be a folded parchment in one of your pockets with their last known location."

He felt her hand leave his waist as she dug around for the parchment; the sound of a crinkled missive being unfolded followed.

"Huh. So there is."

He heard the parchment fold up again and then felt her arm around his waist again.

"So, Marieka?"

"Yes, Bryn?"

"No more skooma?"

"No, Bryn. No more skooma."


	38. Kharjo

**Phew! What a chapter. I wrote this over the span of a week and finally finished it up over my lunch today. And now I'm forcing myself to take a break at work to post it. I had fun with this one…I really did. I don't know if my muse has returned to me, but let's face it. Something good is going on when I start getting all geographical. Yeah, the nerd inside really got out of me in this one.**

**Geographers FTW.**

**No? Just me? :p**

**Anyhow, I had a little help from a Khajiit expert to make sure I was on the straight and narrow where writing for the charming Kharjo was concerned. So thanks johmatmarkun. ****Sehr geschätzt.**

**Oh, and one last thing. If you've been enjoying Girl with the Voice, you might be interested in my new side project, aptly titled Girl with the Voice: In Her Own Words. It is intended as something to keep me writing, even if it's in little bits and pieces. They are responses to prompts from Marieka's perspective. So check it out if you haven't. Cuz I mean, if I don't toot my own horn, who's gonna do it for me, huh?**

**Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

><p><em>Kharjo<em>

Ahkari's caravan rarely deviated from its path. Still, when the Khajiit's finds called for it, changes in schedule were made. When they had stopped in Riften, she came to acquire a large supply of both moon sugar and skooma. Kharjo did not question her – times were tough, and despite her vocal opposition to being dubbed a smuggler, he also knew she had a head for business. She'd not turn away the opportunity to make some coin by delivering a shipment to her contacts in Dawnstar. The recent business with the nightmares had ended, and there were more than a few miners and dockworkers who were once again interested in a more hallucinogenic lifestyle.

It was therefore not surprising that they had all found themselves returning directly to the northern settlement from Riften. It was never smart to travel needlessly with such goods in tow.

When they arrived at the outskirts of Dawnstar, Kharjo helped his mates in the caravan set up for the coming days. As he carried several crates of supplies back and forth between their cart and Ahkari's tent, he heard a familiar voice.

"Just the Khajiit I was looking for."

He spun around to see Marieka leaning lazily against the trunk of a dying tree.

"Ah, Marieka," he replied. "You've returned to Dawnstar so soon. We were not expecting to see your face again this quickly."

She stepped away from the tree and approached him.

"To tell the truth, I didn't think I would have run into you either," she admitted. "But the business at the College – and what followed – took much less time than I suspected it would. I thought I'd chance finding you again here."

"You…were looking for us?"

She shook her head. "No," she replied. "Just you."

She held out her hand and opened it up in front of him. As his eyes fell upon what she carried, he gasped.

"My…amulet," he exclaimed. "You found my Moon Amulet."

"That I did, Kharjo," she said, smiling. She quickly looked down and kicked at the dirt. "I also want to apologize for the way we parted. I…had _no_ idea who you were when Brynjolf and I left Dawnstar last."

"Ah. I suspected as much," he said, chuckling. "Khajiit would have been shocked had you recovered so quickly from the skooma."

"Never again will I let anyone – Brynjolf included – talk me into partaking in such a thing," she said.

"Speaking of Brynjolf…he is not with you?"

She shook her head. "I could not bring him where I need to go. It is more danger than I could ask him to submit himself too."

"But then you should not go alone," he suggested.

"I do what I must, Kharjo," she replied. "And now that I have returned your amulet to you, I should be on my way."

He scratched at his chin for a moment. "Marieka, you should wait here for a moment. Khajiit must speak to Ahkari."

She shrugged as he approached her tent and entered slowly.

Ahkari was crouched over a chest, organizing some of her wares prior to the caravan's opening that day. She looked up at him when he entered.

"Ah, Kharjo," she said. "You have been a great help today, as you always are."

He nodded his appreciation for her words. "I have a wonder, Ahkari."

"Of course," she said. "Do tell."

"The Breton, Marieka, has returned to us. She retrieved my Moon Amulet," he said. "I feel I must…perhaps…offer her my help."

"You are still indebted to me, Khajiit," she reminded him.

"I understand," he said, ready to turn to leave.

"But," she continued, "that is not to say the girl does not require your assistance. Go. Help her where you can, and return to us when you have completed her task. Dro'marash will be enough to guard us while we travel. We shall not yet again have such cargo to transport for some time. But hurry back to us Kharjo."

He nodded. "Of course. I shall return as soon as she no longer has need for my help." He nodded briefly at her and hurried back to where Marieka stood.

She looked at him expectantly when he returned.

"It is settled then."

She cocked her head to the side. "_What_ is settled?"

"Khajiit will travel with you and aid you in your tasks."

"Wait," she said. "You? You will travel with me?"

He nodded.

"But…wait. Are you _sure_?" Her eyes were wide – so much so that it made him chuckle to himself.

"Of course," he replied. "You assisted me without question. It is only right that I return the favour."

She smiled widely at him. "I…thank you, Kharjo. Though, I wouldn't feel right accepting your help. It will be a very dangerous task. I…could not ask you to come along."

"And you did not ask. I am telling you that I will come along," he corrected. "Come. Let us be on our way before the winds change and the snows blow."

"Well…since you insist."

He quickly gathered his meager belongings and prepared himself for their journey. He bid his companions farewell and advised them he would return in time. They wished the pair well in the task that lie before them before they departed.

As they set off, Kharjo asked Marieka where they were to head. She explained that they were hunting for one of the legendary Elder Scrolls – a revelation that made his tail twitch. They would seek out the Dwemer ruins at Alftand which would allow her to find the even deeper ruins of Blackreach. Somewhere within those ruins, she would be able to make use of some very odd items – a strangely carved sphere of Dwemer origin and a cube she described as a 'lexicon', that she had obtained from a 'madman buried away in the glacial islands in the north'. Both items would assist her – one would open the way to Blackreach and the other would gain access to the Elder Scroll itself. She knew less than she wanted to about both of the pieces she carried; and even less about the ruins of Blackreach and Alftand that she was required to travel to. Yet it did not dissuade her from continuing on in her journey – something that allowed Kharjo to see her determination.

Their travels were filled with light conversation. Stories of Kharjo's past in Elsweyr; tales of Marieka's adventures in Skyrim, and some from back in High Rock. But as the weather turned harsh, their conversation stalled and they expended most of their energy on simply putting one foot in front of the other. When they were almost halfway between Dawnstar and Winterhold, they turned south. The ruins of Alftand were apparently easy to spot, yet Marieka was uncertain on account of the weather they found themselves in. The snows were relentless; the wind whipping up whirlwinds of flurries. The journey took twice as long as it should have, but they eventually arrived at the surface of the Dwemer remains.

The task of finding the entrance proved even more arduous than it was to travel to the site in the first place. They examined the towers that stuck out of the ice. They searched through the temporary structures that seemed to belong to a team that appeared to be trying to excavate the ruins. After much exploration, the pair finally stumbled upon an entrance to the ruins that seemed accessible.

"I'm exhausted, Kharjo," Marieka exclaimed. "Should we rest for some time before moving on?"

"Perhaps we shall have a look around here first. See if we are safe, no?"

She nodded in agreement and they investigated the area briefly before declaring it safe enough.

They settled on to the floor of the corridor they stood in, slightly in the shadow of a large column. She reached around in her pack and found some bread and cheese to share. Kharjo took the food graciously and they chewed in silence for a few moments, before Marieka broke it.

"How long have you worked with Ahkari?"

"For."

"Pardon?"

"I work _for_ Ahkari."

She scrunched her face at his words. "Is there _that_ much of a difference?"

"I owe a great debt to Ahkari," he explained.

A short time passed again in silence.

"I don't mean to pry, but my curiosity _will_ get the better of me eventually," she said.

"It is fine," he replied. "Perhaps my story will help you in the future. You see, while I did live much of my life in Elsweyr, where the air is warm and the sands even warmer, these recent years have seen Khajiit travelling outside of my home. Eventually my paths led me to Cyrodiil, which is not such a terrible thing, but…"

As he trailed off, she looked over at him. "What happened in Cyrodiil?"

"Ah," he began, "the same fate that has befallen all who are careless in their travels. The lure of drink and coin is strong over some of us. And when they are intertwined, Khajiit falls on hard times. Harder than he should."

"Did you lose everything, Kharjo?" He couldn't help but notice the concern on her face was genuine.

"Worse than that, perhaps," he replied. "I was thrown into prison by the guards. Spent days…no…weeks in a cell. They barely brought food and water to sustain me. After all, I was just a drunken thief who lost all his coin in a misplaced bet, no?" He looked away from her, humiliated over his story.

She shook her head. "Kharjo, do _not_ feel ashamed. We all have weak moments. We have times where we just…don't make the right choices. Or the right decisions. I have plenty of them myself. It's what we choose to do with the experience that makes us better or worse. But, you did say that you owed Ahkari a debt. What did you mean?"

"Ahkari freed me from the prison," he explained. "She took me on to guard her in her travels. And her travels took us from the tolerable climate of Cyrodiil to the insufferable land of Skyrim."

"I can certainly agree with that, my friend," she said with a smile. "The weather here is…less than desirable."

He smiled weakly back at her. "And now I am indebted to you as well, Marieka."

She shook her head. "Not at all Kharjo. Had I known that you felt that way, I'd not have allowed you to come."

"Nonsense," he replied quickly. "You have been nothing but kind to me. To the caravan. I could not allow you to make this journey on your own."

"And for that, I am truly grateful," she said, squeezing his hand.

He yawned as he looked over at her. "Perhaps we should rest while we can."

She nodded. And before he realized it had happened, his eyes closed and he fell into slumber.

* * *

><p>Kharjo heard Marieka gasp as the doors from the mechanized lift opened.<p>

The two had traversed through the seemingly never-ending corridors and caverns the made up Alftand's upper levels. The Dwemer ruin hid many dangers – skooma-addicted Khajiit gone insane, the now-hideous monstrosities known as the Falmer, and the leaders of the team set to excavate the ruins, driven mad with greed; their bodies lying dead in the cathedral above.

But for all the chaos the upper levels wrought, it could not have prepared him for the sight in front of him. As he stepped out towards the darkness, his eyes quickly adjusted to the low light. A more magnificent vision he'd never thought to behold.

"Do my eyes deceive me?" she whispered beside him.

He could not respond – merely shook his head.

In the darkness…in the beyond, was Blackreach. The ancient cavern that stretched as far as the eye could see, and continued ever further. An otherworldly glow encompassed the entirety of the landscape, unmistakably emanating from the large – no…colossal – glowing mushrooms that gave the impression that they floated in mid-air. Strands of vines dangled from the mushrooms, swaying gracefully under the influence of the unfamiliar air currents that travelled throughout the massive expanse.

Marieka began to walk towards a short wall that bordered the level upon which they stood; her mouth was agape and her mind was not on her surroundings. Kharjo immediately reached out and placed a hand upon her shoulder, halting her progress.

"Perhaps you should not be so obvious with your movements," he advised, motioning to figures on the levels below.

She looked towards the lower ground and nodded. "Forgive me, Kharjo. My mind is not at its best right now." Her eyes narrowed as she continued to look at the figures wandering. "More Falmer. They won't see us, but if we're not quiet as we continue forward, they'll become a great concern to our progress."

"Allow me," he said, pulling the bow from his back. With arrow in hand, he knelt down behind the stone wall and eyed three Falmer targets below. They were far enough from the others that a quick shot on each wouldn't attract the others' attention. He breathed deeply as he settled into a full draw. As he stabilized himself, preparing to loose the arrow, he observed the Falmer's pattern; several steps, a pause…several steps, a pause… When he felt confident in his target's break in movement, he loosened the grip of his fingertips into a dead release and the arrow sailed through the air. Several seconds passed before the two witnessed the results of his efforts – the arrow struck the creature in the centre of its head, sending him faltering to the ground in a heap.

He repeated the technique on the other two Falmer, having some trouble with the third. His arrow struck its shoulder, spinning the creature around but barely phasing it. The blind elf began a half crawling stumble towards the steps that led to Kharjo's position. However, its progress was stunted as the Khajiit barely caught the shadow of Marieka as she hopped over the barrier and scrambled down the embankment to stab the Falmer in its neck with her blade. It dropped in front of her and she turned to face him, signaling that he should join her. He smiled to himself, pleased that she had the capacity to watch his back, just as he would do for her.

The pair continued to slink through the darkened expanse, slipping through the shadows to avoid the dangers of the place. Yet, for all the peril lurking at every turn, it was countered by unmentionable beauty. The architecture – so clearly Dwemer and magnificent to behold – stretched across the landscape. The expanse made it unlike any other cave system Kharjo had seen before – not as though he had made it a habit of exploring the underground cracks and crevices Skyrim offered. Despite the intervention of the Dwemer, who cleared vast areas of bedrock to construct the tremendous city, the landscape remained distinctively karst. Glowing geodes of incredible size stuck out from the ground or rested upon it, evidence of collapses from the cavern ceiling. Any stalagmites that might have existed at one time or another had been cleared to smooth out the rock floor. The rock cleared away had almost certainly been used to construct the monstrous buildings throughout for not a bit of it was left behind.

Occasionally they heard a strange song as they walked. It was familiar, but neither could place it. It began to drive the girl crazy, and she hurried up an embankment towards the sound. When she stood at the top, she spun back towards the Khajiit and signaled for him to approach. When he reached her, he saw the source of the noise – a nirnroot, yet glowing red rather than the typical blue glow of its surficial cousin. There was beauty in all these things they discovered in the underground and a strange sense of calm settled over him for a moment. At least it did until his eyes were drawn to the horizon.

In the distance, Kharjo's eyes were drawn to a glowing orb, suspended high above a landing amidst an area densely populated with buildings. Something about it felt off…wrong. He stared at it for a short time before bringing Marieka's attention to it.

"What do you suppose that it?" he asked as he pointed it out.

She squinted at it, unable to recognize anything further than a ball of light in the sky. "Not sure," she replied in a whisper. "But it's far too bright and I'd rather not have the attention drawn to us."

She was right of course. And he was thankful for her willingness to avoid it. Even in the darkness, they were attacked by Falmer with their razor-sharp senses and their pets, the chaurus. Both proved deadly when an opponent was caught off guard – they likely would have overwhelmed Marieka had she been on her own. Yet Kharjo's eyesight demonstrated its worth as he often saw their enemies before they discovered him. Even when he sensed them at the last possible moment, it still gave him an advantage over them, and he would immediately draw his sword, slicing and thrusting it at them until they lie dead at their feet.

Marieka refused to use her strength – her magic – while they crept throughout Blackreach. It would have drawn far too much attention to the pair, and Kharjo agreed. There were so many hidden threats; to blatantly shoot fire and ice and electrical current from one's own fingertips was to invite the threat to immediate confrontation. They'd have been surrounded in a heartbeat.

Yet the slow and steady pace with which they moved through the cavern was considerably effective. Before they'd even realized it, they were past the large glowing orb and could hear water rushing in the distance. They followed the sound, walking a great distance until they encountered a wide cliff that stretched far. She immediately rushed to the edge and looked over.

"Unbelievable," Marieka said, awestruck.

Kharjo refused to step close to the edge. She looked at him, curiosity upon her face.

"Kharjo, you simply must see this," she advised. "Come here."

He shook his head.

"Why not?"

"These heights make me nervous," he replied.

Her brow furrowed. "You're—?"

"Yes," he replied quickly. "I am aware that I am a Khajiit who is afraid of heights."

She stepped towards him and placed her hand on his arm. "Come," she said. "Take my hand. I refuse to let you leave this place without seeing this sight."

"Marieka, I'd rather not."

"You will not argue with me, Khajiit," she said, a hint of a smile upon her face.

He sighed, placing his hand into hers. He nervously stepped – one very deliberate footstep at a time – towards the edge of the cliff where she led him. He wanted badly to close his eyes, but feared taking a faulty step if he did. The closer they were to the perilous abyss, the tighter his grip became upon her. He saw her grimace, apologizing immediately for squeezing her hand in his too strongly – only to follow by repeating the action with the next step.

Finally, they reached the cliff and he squeezed his eyes shut as they stood still. She looked up at him – even with his eyes closed, he knew she did. He felt her small hand upon his shoulder as she continued to hold his hand in her own. He opened one of his eyes minimally – saw the brilliant smile on her face urging him on – and opened the other eye. Another deep breath.

And another.

_Pause._

One more.

And finally, he leaned forward slightly, peering over the edge. The sight he beheld was worth every cautious step…every held breath. A series of four waterfalls could be seen across the chasm from where they stood. The water…_glowed_. The teal of the water was made even more brilliant by the soft glow of the mushrooms that dangled overhead. The hydrological system underground was inspiring – the river leading to the waterfalls was shallow and wide; a weak current that picked up strength as it reached the crest. The water thundered over the cliff causing a strong mist to spray up from the cavern below where each cascade hit the pool with such force that a damp cloud formed and rose dramatically towards them. The water smelled fresh and as they stood there, it coated their skin with a thin layer of tiny droplets.

"What do you think, Kharjo?" she asked quietly. "Worth overcoming the fear?"

He nodded, but quickly stepped backwards as she reminded him of his nervousness.

"Congratulations for pushing it all aside," she said. "It takes a lot to overcome such things."

He was perceptive enough to recognize the tone in her voice as one of experience. It wasn't clear what fears she had overcome in her life, but they must have been worthwhile judging by the confidence she displayed now.

"Let us move on," he suggested – and they did.

* * *

><p>The air of Skyrim felt wondrous as he inhaled.<p>

The splendor of Blackreach was a feast for the eyes, yet the scent was relentlessly musty and damp. The smell of death lingered in the corners of the Dwemer city, and Kharjo was ultimately pleased to be rid of the cavernous expanse that drove one to develop claustrophobia.

Success had been realized on their quest. They reached the tower as they were required to do so, discovering the location of the oculory and entering its chamber. After much deliberation, Marieka played with the controls of the contraption, and the pair watched it spin and move and creak in its holdings. The lenses opened and closed at her command and eventually she sorted out its movements enough to find the sole purpose for their being there – the Elder Scroll. Kharjo heard her gasp as the device opened to reveal it and she hopped up from her position, rushing towards it. When she seized it in her hands, he saw her close her eyes and breathe a sigh of relief for its retrieval. She carefully placed it in her pack and they sought the exit to the confusing ruins once and for all.

And now, they were at the surface. The snows had subsided – for which Kharjo was thankful. Even if it were temporary, it made the descent from the ruins much more feasible. Soon enough, they were on the road back to Dawnstar.

As they continued ahead, he felt a twinge in his stomach at the thought of returning to the caravan. If he were honest with himself, he would know that he enjoyed the kinship of his fellow Khajiit. But there was something about being on the open road without the responsibility of guarding Ahkari and her wagons.

"Marieka," he began. "I've a question for you."

"Yes?"

"What would you say to Khajiit joining you for awhile in your journeys across this land?"

She halted her forward motion and turned to face him. "You wish to travel with me?" she asked incredulously. "On purpose?"

He smirked at her comment. "Yes. Though some might consider me crazy for it, that was quite an adventure. It is difficult to imagine going back to the caravan. To travel the same roads over and over again with only a bandit or three to worry about? Why, I would be crazier to want to live such a stagnant life."

"Kharjo," she replied, "nothing would make me happier to have you join me. Are you absolutely sure? We'll see dragons. I can guarantee you that much."

Dragons? He'd not considered that. Still, if she had survived this long while facing them down, surely he could benefit from such a travelling companion.

He nodded. "I am sure."

"Consider yourself aboard."

She linked her arm into his and they continued down the path. But rather than taking the road to Dawnstar, they headed south when the wall of mountains provided a valley.

The road she needed to travel would take them beyond High Hrothgar. Beyond the home of the Greybeards to the Throat of the World and the dragon who would counsel her of her fate. The Elder Scroll in her possession was the key.

And Kharjo decided that he would be the one to ensure she would be safe enough to use it.


	39. Paarthurnax

**Fair warning – I am **_**not**_** writing dragon tongue into conversations with Paarthurnax. It kinda pissed me off in the game that he kept speaking in both. I wanted to smack him on the head and say "Just pick a language and stick with it, buddy." He had to say everything twice! Anyway, I'm certain that might disappoint some of you, so thought I'd just get it out of the way right off the bat. Also, a few changes to the quest (order, substance, all that). Gotta keep things fresh and interesting, after all.**

**I'm going to say that this has probably been the most difficult chapter to write so far. It's not that it's been terribly emotional or anything, I just cannot seem to put finger to keyboard for this one. For each of the past three chapters, I started out trying to write this one – and failed miserably. And it's terrible primarily because as a character, I love Paarthurnax. He's dope. He's just not cooperating very much when it comes to being characterized. How do you get into the shoes of a character when they don't wear any? Meh. Hopefully I've managed to pull it together enough to produce something worthy of my readership. Sorry it's a lot shorter than what I'm normally able to churn out. I'm just thankful it's done!**

**Who, by the way, are an amazing group of people. Thank you all for your continued support with this story. It means so much...**

**Oh, and if you're interested, I suppose I should let you know that I now have a fictionpress(dot)com account under the same name. I only have terrible poetry there at the moment (two, in fact), but hey. It's just another foray into the world of writing for me. Once I start on some original fiction, I'll post there as well. You can **_**totally**_** ignore the poetry. In fact, I insist...**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Paarthurnax<strong>_

_From the dawn of time to the end of days  
>I will have to run, away<br>I want to feel the pain and the bitter taste  
>Of the blood on my lips, again<em>

_This deadly burst of snow is burning my hands_  
><em>I'm frozen to the bones, I am<em>  
><em>A million mile from home, I'm walking away<em>  
><em>I can't remind your eyes, your face<em>

"_Iron", Woodkid (Lemoine)_

* * *

><p>Quiet introspection.<p>

It was the easiest thing in the world to do for an immortal being that existed at the top of the highest peak in Skyrim – the Throat of the World. With the path to this place guarded by polar winds that burned the skin straight off of the bone, and a daunting path even without the most extreme weather, Paarthurnax rarely had visitors. The Greybeards would approach him on occasion for reflection and advice, but it was so rare in recent years.

In fact, his only visitor had come no more than a fortnight ago. The _Dovahkiin_, of all things. The Greybeards had taught her how to safely navigate the pass to the peak of the mountain, and she did so successfully. And the Breton…this Marieka…kin to the dov of Tamriel arrived to speak to him. Why she came, he did not fully comprehend. She'd asked no pressing questions. She'd had no burning issues to discuss.

But then she revealed her true purpose. She sought to end the life of one of her brethren...one of _his_ brethren...Alduin.

And now quiet introspection was a practice that took on new meaning.

The more he considered the options, the easier the realization dawned – it was time for an end to Alduin's tyranny over the dov. It was time for new leadership. And when the Dovahkiin stepped up to face his brother – and defeated him – Paarthurnax would be there to take his place. He would teach his brethren the Way of the Voice. He hoped it would be enough to ease them into a new life of meditation and introspection.

It was then he decided he would help Marieka. But first, she would have to return, and seek answers to the proper questions.

And if he were correct, she was already headed back to the Throat of the World to do just that.

Whether she had the proper questions, remained to be seen.

* * *

><p>It was time – the girl had arrived.<p>

Even if Paarthurnax could not sense her presence – which he could – he'd have known she'd arrived when the skies calmed dramatically just below the peak where he rested. Sure enough, only a short time passed before he could see two figures approaching his location upon the wall. As he looked down upon them, he recognized the Breton, but did not know the Khajiit.

"Ah, Dovahkiin," he bellowed. "You have come with a companion."

She nodded, briefly introducing the dragon to the Khajiit. "Kharjo accompanied me to Blackreach. He helped me to find the—"

"Elder Scroll," the dovah interjected. "Yes, of course. I am not shocked that you would know to seek it out."

"Well, I had assistance in the matter," she admitted.

"Of course you did," he replied. "We aren't born with infinite knowledge. We must learn in order to grow. So you bring the scroll here, it would seem?"

"I do," she replied, nodding. "I admit…I'm not certain what more I need to do with it. I've looked at it…read it. But…I have not gained knowledge from it."

The dragon chuckled heartily as he watched her expression change to one of frustration.

"Reading the scroll in a place where it means nothing begets the same," he replied.

"You're suggesting that there is a specific _place_ I must read this?" she asked. The question seemed even more ridiculous as the words tumbled out of her mouth. She sighed, wondering how much further her legs could carry her in order to complete the task she set out to complete.

As if sensing her thoughts, Paarthurnax grinned a toothy grin that never failed to appear unsettling and delivered some good news.

"The fortunate thing is that the location is very close. It was here that Alduin was banished; here that the Nords of old used the very shout that you seek knowledge of to defeat him," he said. His voice echoed off of the rocky outcrops of the peak, cushioned by the soft surface of the freshly fallen snow.

"And by reading the scroll here, I'll learn the shout? I'll be able to defeat Alduin?" Marieka asked.

Paarthurnax paused. "I…do not have all the answers for you," he admitted. "For there is always uncertainty."

"There is no guarantee that any of this will even work?"

As much as a dragon could shake its head, he did so. "Were I to give you a guarantee, I'd not be truthful. You will read the Elder Scroll at the place of the time wound and there you shall gain the knowledge you seek. How the knowledge is used…how it _functions_…these are things that remain uncertain. It is known that Alduin was defeated by the Nords who used the shout of their own creation. It is suspected that it will be so once again with you, Dovahkiin."

She sighed loudly. "Show me this…_time wound_, Paarthurnax."

Kharjo, clearly in awe of the situation, shook himself out of stunned silence and stepped back to allow Marieka to pass him. She watched as the dragon indicated where the time wound was located. She could see the air shimmer, and as she looked back at Paarthurnax, he silently bid her forward.

The pack she carried was placed on the ground where she stood, and she retrieved from it the Elder Scroll. With it in hand, she stepped forward towards the glimmer of light that seemed to indicate a change in air currents…a change in matter…a change in time itself. The moment she stepped into the strange area, both Kharjo and Paarthurnax saw the vision of her warp. Something of a wave formed around her, causing the appearance of seeing her reflected in a still pond as it was interrupted by the ripples of a stone's drop.

They watched as she unrolled the scroll – and her eyes drew down towards the symbols and script. Her body seized; eyes rolled back into her head and head lolled back until she had the look of a woman possessed. Kharjo made to move towards her.

"Wait," Paarthurnax advised the Khajiit. "She should not be disturbed."

The two waited in silence for long moments. When the eternity ended, Marieka's arm fell to her side as she held the scroll loosely within her fingers. Her mouth fell open as she turned to face the dragon.

"The Nords…they didn't—"

A thunderous sound cut through the sky, reverberating off of the peak. This time the sound did not softly echo off the snow, instead causing a near avalanche as it accumulated from the vibrations.

Marieka and Kharjo looked at each other; then at Paarthurnax. The dragon had closed his eyes.

"Alduin," he said bluntly.

"He is here?" Marieka exclaimed. "_Alduin_ is here? I'm not ready to fight him yet! I can't do this!"

"You are not alone, Marieka," Kharjo said, placing a hand on her shoulder. She put her hand atop his, but could not shake the worry from her expression.

"We will fight him together, Dovahkiin," the dragon said, seconds before the tremendous black-scaled body of Alduin soared up the peak in front of them before diving and disappearing once more. "Use what you have learned to bring him down, Marieka! You must bring him down."

He saw her scramble higher up the summit, towards an area of flat ground where she could focus her energies on the fight, rather than her surroundings. The Khajiit followed, drawing his bow and preparing an arrow. Paarthurnax launched himself into the air, waiting for Alduin to return to his visual range. As the three waited in earnest, Marieka closed her eyes to regain her focus. She had been given a view to what the ancient Nords had been able to do against Alduin, yet her nerves continuously threatened to overtake her. She had barely escaped her first encounter with the World Eater alive, fleeing in the chaos with but the clothes on her back.

Still, things were different this time. She had trained. She was prepared. And now, she was focused. This dovah _had_ to die.

The great beast returned to their forefront, hovering in front of Marieka and Kharjo as they attempted to maintain their ground. The Khajiit, normally calm and collected in battle, was facing down nerves he had never felt before. This dragon was _something_ to behold. He was even larger than Paarthurnax. He found it difficult to determine just where one of his arrows would be effective – if it even _would_ be.

As he hesitated, Alduin began to speak. While Kharjo did not understand his words, Paarthurnax and Marieka both did. He taunted her in their tongue; called her weak and mortal – her downfall, he said. She would never defeat the likes of someone as powerful as he; he was never meant to be defeated. Alduin's brother had enough of his impertinence and aimed his path of flight directly at him. The dragon dove out of the way as Paarthurnax approached, causing him to overshoot his attack and forcing him to fly in great circles to recover.

"Take him down!" he once again advised Marieka.

Three simple words. Three simple words in _their _tongue.

_Joor zah frul_.

Her voice floated on the winds of the Throat of the World, aimed directly at Alduin. The great dragon's body shuddered as he responded to the sudden pressure that surrounded him. It was forcing him lower, as if his wings in relation to the currents of air under them were rendered useless. He could no longer sustain his upward trajectory and began a slow and painful hurtle towards the ground.

Even far from his brother's side, Paarthurnax felt his very existence change when the words left her lips. His body seized...his soul trembled. The shout she now understood fully was powerful indeed – so much so that any dovah would fear its use. The implications of it...they were terrible. Mortality to a dragon was incomprehensible, yet with these words dawned the recognition of the concept. With these words, an immortal being could know death.

Alduin's head shook as he descended roughly. He landed hard on the peak, causing the mountain to quake under his weight. Rock fell...snow amassed and coalesced, rolling to lower elevations. Marieka took advantage of the dragon's disorientated state and bolts of energy formed between her hands and the great beast. Kharjo also joined in, loosing several arrows at the dragon before drawing his blade and attacking one of his legs, repeatedly slashing at it wildly.

Paarthurnax swooped low over his brother, breathing his deadly breath upon him. The fire singed at his scales, leaving a swath of smoke in its wake. Alduin roared his annoyance at his brother's lack of solidarity, but it no longer shocked him. He had turned on him so long ago, there was no reason to believe he would be an ally now.

They continued to attack Alduin relentlessly, causing the dragon to whip his neck and head around aimlessly. One such motion caught Kharjo flush in his side and he was tossed aside as if he were a dead rodent flopping in some large cat's grip. Marieka continued to run quickly around in front of Alduin, attempting to keep his attention off of the injured Khajiit; yet with each attack on him, her magic waned. She was running low on energy and her efforts were beginning to dwindle. Paarthurnax continued to attack his brother from above, breathing fire and ice upon him.

Suddenly, as if she'd never sent the beast to the ground, he lifted himself up and off the peak of the mountain, flying up and hovering above them once again. Yet to the surprise of both Marieka and Paarthurnax, he no longer attacked. He backed away from them, calling out that he'd not let a mortal such as her defeat him in this place. His voice echoed as he retreated from them, booming from the distance.

She collapsed to her knees; her energy spent. Though it didn't take long before she got to her feet and rushed to Kharjo's side. He was conscious and only a little worse for wear, but he would recover. They would rest at High Hrothgar with the Greybeards for a time – but not before Marieka confronted the dragon before her.

"Why didn't you tell me what _really_ happened with Alduin?" she asked him pointedly. "Why didn't you tell me that the Nords of old merely...sent him to this time? That he'd not been destroyed. That he might not _ever_ be destroyed?"

"It matters not how you discover the truth, Dovahkiin," Paarthurnax said. "Merely that you know the truth."

"Your selective wisdom is grating on my nerves," she growled back.

"It is not my duty to impart the knowledge of the world upon you," he replied matter-of-factly. "It is _your_ duty to seek the knowledge. To ask the _right_ questions to find out what you need to learn."

"Here's a question for you," she replied sarcastically. "Can I _even_ trust you, Paarthurnax?"

He let a chuckle escape from deep within his belly. "That is not an appropriate question to ask someone whom you may not trust."

She shook her head, annoyed by his answer.

"No, Marieka," he replied. "That is a question you need to ask yourself."

"The Blades don't believe you can be trusted."

"Oh? And just what is it that the Blades say about me, I wonder?" he replied, a strange lilt to his voice.

"You _aided_ Alduin. That you were actually his second during the First Dragon War. That you shoulder _more _than enough responsibility for the massacre that occurred," she spat.

"And you must be aware of my betrayal of my kin," he said. "That I turned my back on Alduin...on all of them."

"What's to stop you from doing that again? To me? To _us_?" He could see her anger manifesting as her fisted hands shook at her sides.

"Ah," he replied with a strange smile. "Those are the right questions to ask. But I've no intention of doing so. Alduin must be defeated. There is no question of that. His tyranny must end."

"The Blades want you dead, Paarthurnax."

"This is not unexpected," he said. "What do you intend?"

"I will not kill you. Unless you give me a reason to do so," she smirked.

"It is fortunate that you are stronger minded than those fools, then," he replied, relaxing for a moment.

She sighed, walking away from him to retrieve her pack from the ground.

"I will bring Kharjo to High Hrothgar so that he may recover from this battle," she said. "But I suspect we shall meet again, Paarthurnax."

"I do not doubt it."

She approached Kharjo where he sat on the ground and helped him to his feet. As he lifted his arm over her shoulder, she supported him as best as her small frame could allow. They began to walk towards the path that would lead them away from the summit.

Paarthurnax shifted his position, moving towards the path to watch as they left.

"Dovahkiin," he called out after her.

Marieka turned around slowly, trying not to cause the Khajiit beside her discomfort. She looked up the path towards the dragon, waiting for him to continue.

"I sense something that I suspect you do not," he began, hesitating. "I have begun to sense the presence of another Dovahkiin."

Her eyes widened. "Another? Where? I must find this person...I mean...individual. I need their help. It's quite evident I cannot take on Alduin on my own. Where can I find them?"

He shook his tremendous head slowly. "You do not understand. The presence is here. Within you."

"What...what are you telling me, Paarthurnax?"

"You are with child, Marieka. You are pregnant."


	40. Brynjolf XII

**So…sorry this one took so long. Let me just say it straight away. Yes. I **_**realize**_** that it's **_**another**_** Brynjolf chapter. You can't **_**possibly**_** have thought you'd be getting away without him this time – I mean, look what Marieka just found out. Of **_**course**_** we're going to be seeing Bryn. Anyhow, I'll try not to make this one so…uh…mooshy…deal? Either way, this is kind of some therapy. It would appear that I need more romance in my life. WTF man…am I not allowed that? Sorry…tangent. Anyhow…yeah. Bryn. He's back. Deal with it.**

**Also, since I can't message you directly, 'HowAboutThisForAName' – which, by the way, is an awesome name – you might be confusing Marieka with the Breton from that **_**other**_** story. Maëlys is the one with the thing for the Khajiit. There will be no kittens in Marieka's future.**

**Finally, as some of you know from my rants on my DeviantArt journals, I heavily suspect that I am being faced head on with a bout of clinical depression – for the third time in my life, if I'm correct. Unfortunately, I've also been extremely ill for the past week and confining myself to bed for 18 – 20 hours a day. So, depression, illness, a hospital trip, insomnia, writer's block…yeah...these are the makings of a shite chapter. I take back any and all thoughts of not making this one mooshy…it's going to be mooshy as all hell. Why? Because I need it.**

**Yeah…I listened to this song far too many times while writing this chapter… _youtu(dot)be(slash)mO1S1Yq-u2U_ Seems Mari isn't the only one missing someone these days…**

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><p><em><strong>Brynjolf XII<strong>_

_I see your picture, I smell your skin on the empty pillow next to mine  
>You have only been gone ten days but already I'm wasting away<em>

_I know I'll see you again, whether far or soon  
>But I need you to know that I care and I miss you.<em>

"_I Miss You", Incubus (Boyd, Einziger, Lance, Kilmore, Pasillas)_

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><p>Riften just wasn't the same without Marieka around. Somehow everything seemed less bright…less vibrant. Yet, it also gave Brynjolf further appreciation for the times when she <em>was <em>around. That didn't help much, however when he contemplated just how long it had been since he last saw her. Was it even really that long this time?

Had his life become so intertwined with this woman that even the hours spent away from her felt like lifetimes?

He sighed as he packed up his goods from the stall and readied himself to head back underground. As he packed the remainder of his "magical" potions into the crate, he sensed someone standing in front of the stall and looked up briefly.

"Sorry," he announced. "Closed for the day." His mood was such that even an extra sale wouldn't have made him happy.

"Not here to buy anything."

Brynjolf paid more attention to the person who the voice belonged to – small, scrawny, barely out of his teens. He got to his feet and leaned forward on the counter.

"Well, then. What can I help you with?"

"Brynjolf?" the young man asked.

He nodded.

"Just a message for you," he replied, sticking his hand out with the missive folded inside of it.

_Ah…a courier, then._

He stared at the note for a moment blankly, but then his eyes lit up.

_Marieka! It must be!_

He thanked the young courier and tossed him a few coins for his trouble. If the note was from Marieka, the cistern be damned – it could wait, and so could the Guild.

He hurriedly broke the seal and unfolded the parchment to see the familiar script of Marieka's soft hand. The hand he wished that…

_No. Just read…_

He leaned against the stall once more as he began to read.

_My sweetest love,_

_We've barely been apart for two weeks, and already your absence feels unbearable. If I'm honest with myself, however, the emptiness in my heart existed the moment my hand left yours. It is becoming so much more difficult to be apart from you…especially now. I have some news…but I cannot deliver it through these means._

_I will leave High Hrothgar for Whiterun in two days' time. I can only hope that this finds its way into your hands in time. Please…come to Whiterun as soon as you can. I will be meeting with the Jarl. I suspect it will not take a terribly long time to gain an audience with him, however I cannot guarantee that I will be in the city beyond a day or two. And I do not know where I will need to go after that. So please…just hurry._

_I long to be with you more than ever right now, Bryn. I want nothing more than to feel your arms around me…protecting me. To feel your warm breath on my cheek before you kiss me. To feel your lips upon my skin once more. Oh, but it feels like it's been an eternity since I felt those things._

_Hurry to Whiterun, love…I shall wait for you there as long as I can…_

_All my love…  
>Mari<em>

He clasped the parchment in his hands and brought it towards his face. When he inhaled deeply, he swore he breathed in her scent – it _couldn't_ have been his imagination.

The tasks he had planned for the rest of the day suddenly had less meaning and importance as his mind raced. She wanted him with her. She had…_news_? What news could it possibly be? He shook his head as he absentmindedly gathered the remainder of his belongings and began the walk to the sewers.

When he arrived at the Ragged Flagon, Delvin was the first to notice his presence.

"Oi, Bryn."

"Delvin," he acknowledged. "I've got to head out of the city for a while. Will you be able to handle things while I'm gone?"

"Of course, mate," the Breton replied. "What's got your attention these days?"

Brynjolf hesitated – long enough for Delvin's suspicions to be confirmed.

"Something tells me you've heard from a certain wee mage again," he said with a smirk.

He nodded, holding up the folded parchment from Marieka in his hand. "Received this today. Seems she has…news for me."

Delvin raised an eyebrow. "News? What kind of news?"

"Don't know. Said she wanted to tell me in person."

"Oh. Bad news, you suspect?"

"I'm not sure, Delvin," he replied. "But…I don't think that's what it is. Regardless, she's going to be in Whiterun soon, and I'll need to be there in time to meet her."

"Have no fear, my friend," Delvin announced. "One of the wagon drivers owes me a favour. It might not be as quick as if you took one of the horses, but it'll be a lot more comfortable. You won't be complaining of aches and pains for your first night back with the girl, eh?" He nudged his elbow at his friend with a smile.

Brynjolf merely glared at him. "So this is all you assume I think about when it comes to Marieka? Sex?"

"You're trying to tell me it's not true?"

The Nord chuckled. "I suppose it's not far from the truth." He shook his head. "But while I do love what that woman does to me…it's…more than that with her."

"Oh? Finally found the one, eh old man?"

"Mallory, what did I tell you about—"

Delvin laughed heartily. "I kid, my friend. But perhaps there's some truth to that? You _have_ been walking around here like a lost dog without her."

Brynjolf took a deep breath and looked at the man. "I love her, Delvin. I didn't think it was possible to ever let myself feel this way about another woman after…well…"

"Yeah, I know, Bryn. You don't have to explain."

"But she just...there's something about her that I just…"

He trailed off for a moment to collect his thoughts. A faint smile appeared on his lips that Delvin did not fail to notice.

"She's a good woman, Del. You've seen what she's done for the Guild," he explained.

"To be honest, Bryn…I think that she did it more for you than any of us," Delvin countered.

Brynjolf shook his head. "I'm not convinced of that. We've talked about the Guild. She cares a great deal about all of you. I realize she's been around so infrequently in recent days, but you've seen her with the new recruits. Even Sapphire and Vex have opened their arms to her. _You_ know how rarely that happens."

"You don't need to convince me of anything," he replied. "I know what kind of person she is."

He nodded. "I just feel like I have to justify myself sometimes."

"Why? Because you let your guard down and opened your heart for once?" Delvin asked. "If you ask me, you should have done it a long time ago. This Guild…our family here? It'll only give you so much. When you remove the job from the balance, there isn't much else left."

Brynjolf chuckled quietly. "Glad you think so. But I was waiting for the right woman, it would seem."

"And so now that you've found her, what do you intend to do?"

"I don't know, Del," he answered. "I really don't know. We talked about marriage…briefly. She's…not certain of it. Understandably."

"Listen, mate," Delvin interjected quickly. "Marriage is an institution. Many who are married don't share love the way they should. And many who aren't married will love each other more fully and more completely than can be imagined. You don't need to have some priest of Mara tell you that it's okay to care for and love the girl."

"You sound a little like Marieka," he said, smiling.

"Then you already know what I'm telling you," he replied. "Get married. Don't get married. It doesn't matter. I've seen the way the woman looks at you. And gods know I've seen the way you look at her. You're a bloody fool for her, Bryn. Stop being so afraid of showing your feelings to the world. Don't worry so much about what the Guild thinks. What you've found is something that we'd _all_ be fools to give up on or try to hide."

Delvin's own emotions began to betray him.

"Something you need to talk about, Del?"

The Breton shook his head and grabbed his bottle of mead, guzzling back a mouthful. "Another time, perhaps. Right now, you need to prepare yourself for a journey. Stop wasting your time with this old bloke, and get yourself back in the arms of the woman who loves you."

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><p>Delvin Mallory was right – the journey by wagon was definitely longer than it would have been had Brynjolf simply gone by horseback. But his legs at least were thankful. The wagons were never completely comfortable, but at the very least, it was more comfortable of a journey than it would have been directly on the mount.<p>

Most of his time was spent leaning back against the cart's wooden planks, wondering what the news Marieka had for him could possibly have been. Between that and the daydreaming he did over what it would be like to see her again, the journey – albeit long – was pleasant enough. The weather held up as they travelled through the night. Delvin's called-in favour allowed Brynjolf to request that they leave after darkness settled in. With some hesitation, the driver agreed – with only minimal reassurance required from the Nord that he would help should any trouble from bandits or other creatures arise on the road.

As the dim light of dawn began to spread across the eastern horizon, the plains surrounding Whiterun came into view. The sight made Brynjolf's heart flip – provided she was already there, he would see Marieka soon. His excitement was tangible, as he began to shift and fidget as the final moments of the wagon ride dragged on.

When they finally reached the stables, he stood as they slowed, stretching his arms and legs from the unforgiving wooden seating. He grabbed his pack and jumped off of the back of the wagon the moment it stopped moving. Thanking the wagon driver, he hurried to the main gates, nodding an acknowledgement at the city guards as he passed.

He felt his pace pick up as he walked into the city, his eyes landing on Breezehome just as the sun's first rays did the same. If she were here, surely that would be where he would find her. He made his way towards the front door, hesitating momentarily before knocking.

_What if Lydia is here?_

He quickly dispelled the thought – if Marieka was inside, he didn't care who he had to face in order to see her.

And so he knocked.

And waited.

And _waited_.

Brynjolf sighed. It would seem that she wasn't yet in the city. He turned slowly – only slightly disappointed – and headed off in search of accommodations until she arrived. He slung is pack over his shoulder, taking several steps away from the home when a noise behind him prompted him to stop.

As he turned, he was greeted by an opening door and…a _Khajiit_?

"Wait," he exclaimed in surprise. "I know you…"

"Ah," the Khajiit replied. "Brynjolf. You have arrived. I am Kharjo, if you have forgotten."

"Of course," he said. "But…what are you doing here?"

"I have been travelling with Marieka," he said matter-of-factly. "She assisted me, and so I assist her."

"Is she…here?" he asked nervously. _This_ couldn't be her news…could it?

"She is upstairs sleeping still, I believe," he replied. "It has been…well, I'm sure she will tell you of the details when she wakes. Please…come in. She will be pleased to see you."

Brynjolf nodded and stepped inside the open door past Kharjo. His nerves over what Marieka was going to reveal to him lessened as the Khajiit advised him he would leave the house so that they had their time together. He hinted that he'd not be back for some time, mentioning something about the scheduled caravan that was to arrive outside of the city and his desire for some companionship from his kin. As he left, closing the door behind him, Brynjolf looked around the room.

Very little had changed from when he was here last, but it was apparent that Marieka had made arrangements for Lydia to no longer be employed as her housecarl. There was no sign of any of the woman's belongings. It was likely a relief for Marieka to not have to be reminded of the goings on at this house. Perhaps it was time for the two to fill the home with memories of their own.

He could no longer put it off – he headed for the stairs and ascended to the second floor.

At the top of the stairs, he could see the bedroom door was closed. He quickly moved towards it, reaching for the handle and turning it slowly so as not to wake her if she still slumbered. When the door creaked open slowly, his eyes fell upon her where she lay.

She was a vision – as she always was to him. She lay on her side, hair perfectly framing her face. He quietly padded over to the side of the bed and lowered himself to sit next to her, removing his boots silently. She breathed quietly; the movement of her chest barely perceptible below the sheets that covered her.

He debated with himself for several moments over whether or not to disturb her rest, but his hand won the internal battle. He could not resist touching her, and his fingertips brushed across her face gently. She stirred briefly and it put a smile upon his face as her eyelids fluttered in response to his touch.

When her eyes fully opened, she had to blink a few times before reacting. She gasped, making to sit up in a hurry.

"Brynjolf!" she exclaimed as she threw her arms towards him. He pulled her close as he returned her embrace tightly. He felt her lips upon his face in frantic kisses, as his fingers buried themselves into her hair. "You made it." Her voice was weak, desperate in its breathless delivery.

"Of course I made it, love," he replied. "I'll always come for you when you call."

He kissed her cheek…her neck. Placing her hands on the side of his face, she pulled back from him to gaze at his face for several moments. He did the same, drinking in her eyes as the dying light of the nearby fire in the hearth danced within them. The softness of her skin caused him to nearly cease breath.

Just as suddenly as she pulled away from him, he found her pulling him back towards her as she scooted on to her knees in front of him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and kneeled as well, resting upon his own feet as he pulled her towards him. She felt perfect in his arms – like they had never been apart.

"We've hardly been apart for a fortnight, Bryn," she whispered, "but it has been agonizing without you by my side."

One of his hands rested gently upon her hip; the other moved up the length of her spine, steadying her in front of him.

"The _only_ thing good about being apart is that I can spend moments like this when I finally see you again," he replied, barely choking out the words between kisses on her neck.

His fingers travelled down her body towards the hem of her short sleeping gown. He gripped it gently, pulling it up slowly until it lifted over her head and her arms slid out of it. He studied every part of her, emblazoning her image in his mind. She began to fumble with his coat, undressing him with much more ease than the first time she had attempted so many months prior.

Soon enough – though seemingly not soon enough for her – she had undressed the man in front of her and they held each other close as their lips pressed into one another's. His hands wandered across the entirety of her body, drinking in the feel of her skin…every blemish…every curve…every spot where a touch prompted a twitch or a moan. He imagined the paradise that Sovngarde was said to be and fully believed it to not compare to her in his arms. She was his utopia…she was his bliss…and she _always _would be.

Every time they joined, it was sweet satisfaction. Brynjolf was never left wanting – he never hungered for another beneath him. Marieka was his equal in every sense of the word and he couldn't imagine living without her. There was nothing more he needed.

As the moments passed, their bodies mingled. Fingertips discovered…lips softly drifted across skin. The warm embraces and dripping sweat of ecstasy lingered long after their motions ceased. They remained in each other's arms, reveling in the serenity of being together once more.

Curled under his arm, one of Marieka's hands settled on to his stomach, easing its way up to his chest and down to his belly. He lowered his face to the top of her head, breathing in her scent and kissing her softly through her tangled hair. When his fingers brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, she looked up at him with a smile.

"I've missed you," she said wistfully.

He didn't reply; at least, not verbally. He merely pulled her tighter to him and kissed her on the forehead.

Further moments in silence passed as their breathing settled. She continued to gaze up at him with her small smile until her eyes closed contentedly. He returned his hand to stroke the hair at the back of her head and her smile grew.

"I have yet to tell you our news."

His hand stopped for a moment, but he quickly continued brushing through her hair.

"If the news is terrible, I don't mind if you push it off for a few moments further. I'm quite enjoying these moments, you know," he said. He was half-joking, though more hopeful than anything.

"I…I don't think the news is truly that terrible," she said quietly, though seemed uncertain.

He stopped stroking her hair and brought his hand under her chin, angling her face up towards him.

"There are so very few pieces of news that could ruin this moment, love," he assured her. "You can tell me now."

He saw her breathe deeply, taking a large breath before her mouth opened – and no sound came out.

"We—" she began, before her voice cracked.

"Yes?"

She rolled towards him, resting herself upon his chest and looking into his eyes.

"Brynjolf…I'm pregnant."

He blinked.

Once.

Twice.

"You're…pregnant?"

She nodded slowly, her face twisting into something of a grimace. She was obviously uncertain of what the news would do to him.

"You mean…we're going to…we're going to have a baby?"

She nodded again.

"So," she began, "what do you think?"

He looked at the ceiling. "We're going to have a baby," he repeated. "I'm going to be a father…"

When his voice trailed off, she placed her hand upon his cheek and pulled his face back to look at her.

"Brynjolf…are you okay with this?"

He continued to blink as he looked at her; his mouth falling open slightly. His mind raced; a child? His baby? He could barely believe it; the news was not processing correctly. But his lips soon betrayed his feelings as they turned up at the corners. It caused her to breathe a sigh of relief as she saw his small smile grow into a full grin.

"Marieka…I…I don't know what to say!" he exclaimed. "We're going to have a baby…are you…are you sure? How did you find out?"

She chuckled a little at the expression on his face. "I…spoke to the leader of the Greybeards. He…he just happens to be a dragon. And he knew. He could sense it."

"You talked to a—" He paused for a moment as his eyes narrowed. "Wait…one of the dragons sensed that you were pregnant? What does that—?"

"It means that our child could also be dovahkiin," she replied.

His hand flew up to his forehead as his brow furrowed. "This…this is…incredible news, Marieka. We're going to…have a baby…"

She smiled at him once more as he pulled her towards him and kissed her lips so fully that she nearly lost her breath. As he loosened his grip on her, she rolled back off of his chest and he flipped her on to her back; his hand immediately flew to her belly and he caressed it gently. He leaned in close to her, kissing her neck.

"I love you, Marieka," he whispered into her ear. He felt her shiver under his fingertips and continued to kiss up her neck to her cheek. "I want to always be here to protect you. And our baby." He pulled back and looked into her eyes once more. "We're going to have a baby."

As she looked back up at him, he felt his whole body melt under her gaze. He silently wondered what he'd done for his life to change in such a way. He considered Nocturnal's influence – was this what happened when one's luck turned around? He didn't know which gods held influence over him at this point, but for the first time in his life, began to thank each and every one of the Divines.

Life would never be the same…and he'd never been happier.


	41. Legate Rikke

**Well, hello there.**

**I know what you're thinking..."Holy shit! You're not dead!" ;) Yeah...just really, really busy with real life stuff. Oh, and weighed down with writer's block. The cloud lifted for a little bit, and I managed to come up with what follows...**

**As I'm not certain if all of you follow along with Marieka's story in "In Her Own Words", you may have missed my apology for being away for so long. And then of course, after writing that, I went away for **_**another **_**really long time. So one more time…I am sorry for being away for so long - repeatedly. I also want to pre-apologize for a not-so-good chapter. I wanted to write one long chapter, but ended up stopping it sooner than expected, mostly in the fear that I wouldn't end up finishing it at all! I will likely continue it soon. I hope. I also don't know if this writing is up to my usual standards…I suppose we'll find out, no?**

**When I completed this section of the game for Marieka, I did not actually get to experience the Season Unending quest. I'm going off of second hand knowledge here, but as you all know, I don't always stick exclusively to the story anyhow. Regardless, my interaction with the folks in the Legion is limited. I hope this means that I'm able to give the characters an even more interesting spin.**

**A little background on my thoughts for this chapter…a long time ago, a friend over on DeviantArt and I had a chat about the nature of the relationship between Ulfric and Rikke. There seems to be…some sort of a connection. What **_**kind**_** of connection, I'm not certain…but it exists if you read between the lines. I hope to explore that a little here – and perhaps answer some questions from previous chapters.**

**Without further ado…onward, friends!**

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><p><em>Legate Rikke<em>

The walls of Castle Dour felt so confining some days. It was hard to breathe. The air seemed too dense and stale. Even opening up doors to let some natural airflow through the corridors tended not to help the situation.

_It's one of those days_, Rikke decided, as she leaned across the map of Skyrim unrolled in front of her. Her eyes burned a spot into a central location on the map: Whiterun. It had been several weeks since the city fell to the Stormcloaks, and much to her dismay, the Imperial Legion had not made up any ground since that time. Still, General Tullius refused to allow her to plan a counterattack to return to city to its rightful leaders.

He'd been quite clear about his stance several days prior. They stood in the very room she was in – looking at each other from across the same table she leaned on.

"Our troops are too scattered in Skyrim," Tullius reminded her. "The defense of Cyrodiil's borders against the Aldmeri Dominion remains the Emperor's primary focus. That will not change, Rikke."

"Of course," she replied, "but our fight is just as important. Our control of Skyrim would—"

"Save it," he interrupted. "Titus – along with most of the other Generals – feels that this 'civil war' we are fighting is a farce. A necessity perhaps, but more so, nothing but a waste of time. Whatever you think you believe about what we are doing here…just save it. No one cares. No one. Sometimes I wonder if even I should care."

"Tullius…what we're doing is for the people of Skyrim. We fight for a stronger province. One that will head off the Dominion when the Thalmor begin their march here," she said sadly. Sighing, she continued. "And they _will_ come."

He nodded. "Yes. They will." He turned away from her and began to leave the room where she stood. "We will not march on Whiterun. I hope that is understood." He did not turn to look at her, nor did he wait for her agreement.

Rikke shook her head as she thought back to the conversation.

"We must take Whiterun back," she mumbled to herself as she continued to stare at the map.

"Legate Rikke," called a voice from behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder towards the officer at the door. "Yes, Praefect? What can I help you with?"

The man stepped into the room quickly. "Apologies for the interruption, Legate. General Tullius summons you. There is an…emissary."

"An emissary, you say?"

He nodded. "Stormcloak."

Rikke straightened up and finally turned to face the officer. "Just who is this emissary?"

"I'm not sure, Legate," he replied. "She…she is no Nord."

Rikke pursed her lips as she looked at the man. Could the rumours spreading through the ranks of the Legion be true? That one of Ulfric's most recent recruits – and now, trusted advisor – had knowledge of the Thu'um?

"This woman," she began. "Is this woman? The one that the rumours speak of?"

The Praefect shifted nervously. "I…am not certain. Though, she may well be."

Rikke sighed. What could Ulfric possibly be trying to accomplish by sending this woman – who the rumours call Dragonborn – to Castle Dour? "Very well. Bring me to them."

He nodded and led her through the corridors to an unremarkable room – small and windowless. Within, Tullius leaned restlessly upon a large stone table.

The officer stood in the doorway as Rikke entered. "General Tullius," he said, nodding.

"Praefect," Tullius replied. "Please retrieve our guest."

Rikke watched as the officer headed off to summon the Stormcloak woman. "'Guest', Tullius?"

"We must treat her as such, Rikke," he warned.

She clucked her tongue behind her teeth, annoyed at the suggestion. "Why is she here?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," he replied. He looked as though he was about to continue, but his eyes were drawn to the door. The officer had returned with the Stormcloak woman.

Rikke eyed the Breton that appeared before her from her toes to the crown of her head. _This_ was the woman who was said to be Dragonborn? _This_ was the woman who was making all the difference in the Stormcloak rebellion? She smirked as her eyes met those of the woman in front of her.

Tullius stepped forward. "I am General Tullius of the Imperial Legion and this is Legate Rikke," he said, introducing them both to the woman. "I don't believe we've met."

A small smile appeared upon the woman's lips. "No. I don't suppose you'd remember me, would you?"

Rikke and Tullius glanced at each other quickly – she saw puzzlement on his face.

"Helgen was a very long time ago."

"Helgen?" Tullius' eyes widened. "You were at Helgen? The day the dragon destroyed it?"

The woman's smile faded. "I do believe you were about to take my head had it not been for that dragon."

"And you've been slumming with Ulfric ever since, then?" Rikke interjected.

She turned her attention to the Legate for a moment and shook her head slowly. Her mouth opened as if to respond, but she paused. Some moments later, she continued. "My name is Marieka."

"Ah yes," Rikke interrupted again. "You _are_ the one the tales speak of. So, Marieka. Just what has Ulfric Stormcloak sent you here to tell us?"

"I do not come on behalf of Ulfric," she replied quickly.

"Ulfric did not send you?" Tullius asked. "Why are you here?"

She took another step forward. "There is a threat to Skyrim that is greater than the civil war. Alduin the World-Eater has returned. I'm certain you both recognize that the return of dragons to the province is not a welcome intrusion to anyone."

Tullius sighed and crossed his arms. "The dragons? This is what you are here for? Of course the dragons are a nuisance. But we are not here to fight the dragons. We are here to calm _your_ rebellion. We are here to restore order to Skyrim for the Empire."

Rikke could see Marieka's small hands ball up at her sides.

"There will be no order in Skyrim if Alduin's plan is fulfilled. There will be no _Skyrim_," she insisted. "You must hear me out. I do not come to you as a Stormcloak this day."

"What are you proposing, Breton?" Rikke asked pointedly.

Marieka took a deep breath and continued. "I propose a truce. A truce to allow us to deal with the threat posed by Alduin."

"Do you honestly think that we would agree to a simple truce?" Rikke replied. "That we would simply believe the word of a Stormcloak advisor to Ulfric himself?"

"Of course not, Legate," she replied. "It is for this reason that I put forth an invitation. In ten days' time, a meeting shall be held at High Hrothgar. It shall be presided over by the Greybeards, and I request a delegation from the Stormcloaks and the Empire to negotiate the terms of such a truce."

Rikke looked at Tullius. He was _considering_ this offer – she could sense it.

"Tullius, you're not seriously going to agree to this nonsense," she spat.

He looked at Marieka. "Would you excuse us for a moment?"

She nodded and exited the room, closing the door behind her and allowing Tullius to confer with his most trusted officer.

"Rikke, this is an opportunity that we cannot pass up," he quickly pointed out. "We've lost Whiterun. Our numbers are wavering and our troops are losing hope. We need reprieve. We need this break. Perhaps while we await the outcome of this situation, we can send for more troops. We can train more soldiers. We can be ready to fight again and take back Skyrim."

She scratched her chin as she contemplated his words. "Perhaps you're correct. We _could_ use the time to rebuild our ranks. Formulate strategy. Strengthen. Let us find out what this Breton plans to do about the dragons."

She headed to the door and opened it, calling for Marieka to return.

"Have you decided?" Marieka asked.

"How exactly do you plan to deal with the dragon threat?" Tullius questioned.

"I have spoken to Vignar Gray-Mane, the Jarl of Whiterun," she replied.

"Jarl. Ha!"

"Rikke," Tullius warned. He turned to Marieka. "Continue."

"As I was saying…the _Jarl_ of Whiterun has agreed to assist me. However, there are…stipulations."

"Stipulations?" Tullius raised an eyebrow as he leaned upon the stone table once more.

"Gray-Mane refuses to allow my plan to be carried out while Whiterun is open to attack," she explained.

"Your plan?" Rikke repeated. "Are you sure this isn't a plan to simply prevent the Stormcloaks from losing their hold on the city?"

"Legate, despite your obvious belief that I am here merely to further the Stormcloak cause," Marieka disputed, "I am actually here for the reason I've told you. We must end the threat that the dragons pose. My plan – since you've asked – is to use Dragonreach for its original purpose."

"And what is that purpose?" Tullius asked.

"To capture and house a dragon."

* * *

><p>"I still cannot believe we're going along with this, Tullius," Rikke growled as their cart traveled along the road.<p>

"We don't have much of a choice," he reminded her.

She shook her head and leaned back in her uncomfortable seat on the bench. It was shocking that Elisif had agreed to join them, but not surprising that she advised she would arrive on her own. This means of travel was hardly befitting a Jarl. As her eyes fell upon each person in the cart with her, she contemplated just how long of a journey this was going to be. Still, if the company had been better, perhaps the journey would have passed quicker. Aside from Tullius, none of the officers or soldiers in the cart seemed to be secure enough to speak.

_It might be time to liven up this bunch._

"We still have at least a day's travel ahead of us Tullius," she advised, while looking at the faces of the others. "What say we pull out some provisions?"

"Provisions?"

Rikke smirked at Tullius for a moment, before casting her eyes upon the others. The faces upon the youngest pair of soldiers in the cart lit up, wondering what the woman was referring to.

"This is going to be a terribly long journey if we aren't a little more social," she advised, reaching beneath the bench for a small wooden crate. "I'll need some help opening this."

One of the officers jumped up, offering a small dagger forward and kneeling in front of the case. "Legate – may I?"

"Of course," she replied with a smile.

The officer slid the dagger blade in between the crate and its lid; he applied slight pressure to the handle and the lid popped off easily. The crate had the attention of everyone in the cart and as the officer lifted the lid, a smile lit up his expression.

"Colovian brandy? Legate Rikke…we are honoured by your generosity!"

She glanced at Tullius, who immediately shook his head with a smile. The woman, normally harsh and disciplined with her men, was finally showing a side of camaraderie that few in the Legion ever saw. The group passed several bottles of the brandy around as the steady sound of hooves echoed in front of them and into the early evening.

She sat back with a satisfied grin as she observed the men in the cart. The brandy had done its job and the trip seemed to pass faster, even as the voices died out when each soldier fell asleep. Eventually, in the quiet of the night as they passed beneath the scattered trees, Rikke eventually succumbed to her exhaustion as well, falling asleep on the bench with her head in her hands.

When she awoke several hours later, her head was still resting upon her arm as she slumped to the side. She reached for her neck to massage it lightly, attempting to rid herself of the stiffness from the uncomfortable position she'd been in. Her vision adjusted slowly to the early morning light filtering through the trees as she allowed herself to focus on a small songbird perched on a branch above the cart. As the bird launched itself into flight, her eyes followed it as it flew down the forest path, leading them to fall upon another cart in the distance as it trailed behind them.

Rikke squinted, trying to establish who was in the cart. As it turned slightly to navigate around a fallen tree jutting into the path, a face came into view that she recognized.

"Ulfric," she muttered under her breath.

"Hmm?"

She shook her head and avoided Tullius' glance, but he leaned forward and looked past her.

"Ah," he added knowingly. "Now I know what you were mumbling about. Or perhaps I should say 'who'."

She glared over at Tullius, almost letting loose a verbal retort, but thinking better of it. When she looked to the front of the cart once more, she noticed they had left the edge of the woods and were headed towards a small settlement.

When he noticed Rikke looking beyond him, Tullius turned in the same direction.

"Ivarstead," he said, recognizing the community. "Soon, the difficult part of our journey will begin."

She nodded. Rikke had never ascended the Throat of the World. She had never made the journey of seven thousand steps. But then, there _was_ a first for everything – including the possibility of a truce between the Legion and the Stormcloaks. Could there ever really be a peace between the two factions? She doubted that, very seriously. Still, she had no choice but to support Tullius' wishes for civility in this matter.

As the cart settled to a halt in Ivarstead, its passengers began to stretch their legs and stand before disembarking. The long journey had been uncomfortable and not one of the soldiers was ready to begin the climb to High Hrothgar because of it. It did not stop Rikke from hurrying far from the cart and as far away from Ulfric and his Stormcloak companions as she could go.

She recalled the last time she had encountered him – it was at Helgen; the same time she'd unknowingly encountered the Breton. She considered just how close they had come to putting an end to his pitiful rebellion then; how much easier it would have been to squash any uprisings. They'd still have control of Whiterun.

Of course, there would still be the dragon threat. And as Marieka had been at Helgen that day with Ulfric, would she have been killed? Would they be left without the so-called Dragonborn to be their savior?

"Bah," she grumbled as she headed towards the base of the mountain path. Despite her aching joints, she couldn't wait to get started towards the monastery. The sooner these "negotiations" got underway, the sooner she could be rid of Ulfric again.

She tapped her toe on the ground impatiently as she watched Tullius with the other men, moving slowly and unloading supplies from the cart. As she began to pace back and forth across the path, she considered that the whole process might move quicker had she decided to help the soldiers with their task. Tullius wouldn't have allowed that however – no menial tasks for his second-in-command. She pitied the poor soldiers given the chore of carrying their crates up the seven thousand steps. Still – she'd have done it herself if it meant not having to run into—

"Ulfric!"

Rikke's startled reaction to seeing the man as she turned around caused a smirk to appear on his face.

"And it's lovely to see you again as well, Rikke," he replied.

She groaned loudly and spun on her heel away from him.

"Ah, now that's more like the woman I'm familiar with," he said.

"What do you want, Ulfric?" she demanded, refusing to turn around to look back at him.

"I don't _want_ anything," he said. "I'm merely here to extend my thanks to you for allowing me to keep my head back at Helgen."

"Ha!" she snorted in derision. "The _only_ reason you're still alive is because of the chaos that descended upon us that day."

"Then perhaps I should be thanking the dragon."

"Indeed."

Silence fell between them. Rikke maintained her position.

"Are you still standing there, Ulfric?"

"Yes, I am," he chuckled deeply.

"You can leave at any time you see fit then," she snorted.

She could hear him approaching her from behind; his footsteps were heavy on the leaf-covered path. They crunched underfoot and her body seized up when she sensed him in close proximity to where she stood.

"Rikke…"

She turned around quickly and stared him down.

"I'll ask you again, Ulfric. _What_ do you want?"

"Take your helm off."

She shook her head defiantly.

"Take your helm off," he repeated, his voice almost a whisper. She felt the helm being lifted off of her head and nearly pushed him backwards; but her arms did not respond to her own wishes. She stood frozen as she felt his fingers upon the side of her face.

"Why do you still fight for the Legion, Rikke?"

"You know why," she replied.

"No," he continued, "I don't. I don't understand how you believe that the Empire wishes to make Skyrim a better place. They wish to assimilate us—"

His voice trailed off when she finally looked into his eyes. For the first time, she saw sincerity and confusion.

"Why do you ask me this? You know the answer. I've told you again and again that—"

"But I don't understand," he interrupted. "I don't understand how a true daughter of Skyrim – which you say you are – could believe in the cause of the Empire."

"I _am_ a true daughter of Skyrim," she countered. "And it's for that reason that I fight for the Empire. I want to see Skyrim whole once more. I want to see her strong…to see her people unified. We have a bigger enemy here, Ulfric, and all of this in-fighting that your rebellion is at the centre of is only serving to _weaken_ us."

"No," he argued. "We've been weakened by so many years under Imperial rule. We are shadows of our former selves, Rikke. We've forgotten the old ways. Well…_some_ of us have."

She glared at him. "Don't feed me your bullshit. You know as well as I do that we Nords fighting as Legionnaires are true Nords who respect the old ways."

"What good is respecting the old ways if you must hide it?"

She eyed him carefully and continued to be shocked with the apparent hurt and sincerity he displayed. She wasn't sure what to make of his demeanour or comments towards her.

"I don't know what to make of your new recruit," she said, blatantly changing the subject.

"I trust you speak of Marieka," he replied.

She nodded.

"There is nothing to make of her," he replied. "She supports our cause. That's good enough for me."

"Even though she is not a Nord?" Rikke probed with a raised eyebrow.

Ulfric sighed loudly. "Rikke…you know me. I am not the man they think I am. I am not afraid of those who have come to our home from beyond her borders. I do not reject them…yet despite all my efforts to look past all of our differences, still I am labeled a bigot."

She paused for a moment, then slowly nodded.

"I know," she replied quietly. Her mind began to fill with memories – memories that she'd hidden away since the Great War. "I knew you better than anyone back then…didn't I?"

A wistful smile crossed his lips.

"Aye," he replied.

"But now," she continued, "now I don't feel as though I know you at all."

"Too many things have happened, Rikke," he replied. "Too much pain for you to ever understand why things changed for me. Why I could never go back to fighting alongside you and your…Empire."

"It's…a shame, really," she whispered.

He lifted her helm back up and she took it from him, placing it back atop her head.

"Yes," he replied as she did so. "It is."

He turned around and began to walk away, but stopped for a moment and looked back over his shoulder.

"She reminds me of you, you know," he said. "The Dragonborn."

As he continued to walk away from her, she watched him sadly.

_What could have been, dear Ulfric…what could have been…_


	42. Ulfric Stormcloak VI

**So, it's taken me so long to finish this chapter, I believe I may have technically left enough time for Marieka to actually come to term in her pregnancy. If we were doing this in real time, she'd likely have already given birth. I can't believe I finally finished this chapter. And it's **_**terrible**_**, but it's a means to an end.**

**I digress…**

**In the past couple of months, I have made some really dreadful decisions and I'm dealing with a terrible amount of regret at the moment. If you interact with me on any version of a regular basis, you may have been witness to that – if so, I'm terribly sorry. I'm in a bad place emotionally and mentally. I've discovered I likely have BPD. Anyway, like I was saying, dreadful decisions – one of which was the almost permanent decision to completely abandon all of my writing. I've only had a couple of people and things to keep me sane and lost them; the only thing left was my writing, and I was ready to give it up. Why do people think I'm smart again?**

**Even beyond any of that, however, is this feeling that's been eating away at me. I know that none of you out there are hanging on to where Marieka's story is sitting, saying to yourself "I don't know how I can go on living without knowing what's going to happen next." That said, I do appreciate the fact that you've given up a significant portion of your time in order to read her story as it's progressed – and if anything, I owe you all at least as much to give you an ending. I can't say how long it will take…I can't say if I'll be writing more stories…but I will say this. I **_**will**_** finish this. For crying out loud, I at least need to finish **_**something**_** that I've started on **_**my **_**terms. In any case, there won't be much more to Marieka's story – I can see the end on the horizon, which gives me some motivation. I hope you'll stick around with me to the end…it's probably going to be a bumpy ride…**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Ulfric Stormcloak VI<strong>_

_Oh, can't anybody see?  
><em>_We've got a war to fight here  
><em>_Never found our way  
><em>_Regardless of what they say  
><em>_How can it feel this wrong?  
><em>_From this moment  
><em>_How can it feel this wrong?_

_- "Roads", Portishead (Gibbons, Utley)_

* * *

><p>"I suppose things could have gone worse for us."<p>

Ulfric glanced sidelong at his second in command; the surly words of an even surlier man caused a smirk to form across his face.

"True," Ulfric replied. "For instance, if Marieka wasn't with us, we'd surely have lost much more than we wanted."

"Aye," Galmar agreed. "The wee one does still have her usefulness."

The sound of a quickened pace of footsteps on the snow behind them caught Ulfric's ear and he turned quickly to see who approached the pair.

"My ears are burning. Are you discussing me?"

"Not everything is about _you_, Marieka," Galmar grumbled.

"Oh," she replied quietly.

A few moments of silence, Galmar snorted loudly.

"Don't be so sad about it, girl! Yes, we were talking about you," he chortled.

She pushed him to no avail; her inability to move him caused him to chuckle even louder.

Ulfric shook his head. The banter that Marieka and Galmar shared could drive a man to drink; for some reason, the banter this day was bearable. It was perhaps the success of the negotiations with the Empire that allowed him to see past their back and forth. He continued to listen to their pointed, yet playful chatter as they continued to descend from the Throat of the World. Relief had washed over him during the meeting at the sanctuary of the Greybeards and it had not yet let go; there would be peace between the Stormcloaks and the Empire. He recognized that the peace may not last long, but it would be enough. Enough to allow Marieka to continue her quest to snuff out the dragon threat to Skyrim – to Tamriel, for that matter.

Still, the provisional peace was not enough to allow him to rest easy. He could not help but wonder about her task as Dragonborn – particularly in light of the news of her pregnancy. They'd spoken on the subject; not at great length, yet enough for him to realize that he had no idea if her intentions were solid. He was blind to her plans and didn't know if she would be strong enough to continue her mission.

And if not, what then?

Who would be able to defeat the dragon threat? Who would even _care_ to? What would happen if no one stepped up?

The answers did not bear considering.

"Ulfric?"

The small voice from beside him shook him away from his thoughts.

"Yes, Marieka?"

"You don't seem to be here with us right now," she continued.

He smiled at the two of his companions. "Just lost in my thoughts."

She returned the smile without a word.

"Reliving the facial expression on that Imperial scum over the outcome of the negotiations, no doubt!" Galmar grunted loudly.

Ulfric smirked and said nothing, continuing to walk quietly down the path.

* * *

><p>It was a rare day indeed, when Windhelm didn't feel like home. The long journey back from Ivarstead – made longer by the miserable weather accompanying it – likely had a hand in giving it that feeling. It was good to be back in the city; the cold, stone walls somehow comforting despite their foreboding feel. They made Ulfric feel safe and secure from the outside.<p>

_As if they'd stop those bloody Thalmor_, he thought. _Gods damned Mer._

Still, he felt solaced for the moment. The Thalmor would be no threat until the dragons were taken care of. He considered the sadness in that line of thinking briefly before returning to the business at hand.

As he paced around the war room, he considered the words of his advisors upon his return to the city. The reports of finances of the Stormcloaks, supplies, training and troops were important, and for the moment, all of good news. What troubled him most were the rumblings of unrest – inside and out of the city. The guards reported complaints of Argonians hassling travelers at the main gate. A group of traders from the East Empire Company ran their ship aground near the docks, causing mayhem for other boats. The continued rumours of strange noises from the former Aretino residence. An increase in robberies in the Stone Quarter.

The culmination of so many problems saw the Nord reconsidering the feeling of solace. At least the negotiations went better than expected.

At that moment, the most he could do was to wait for news from Marieka. With the discussions between the Stormcloaks and the Empire providing an uneasy peace, she should have had no trouble convincing Jarl Vignar Gray-Mane to use Dragonsreach for its purpose – to capture a dragon. It was a shame the decision required the peace to begin with, yet Ulfric couldn't fault the Jarl for insisting upon it. Whiterun had not been an easy city to take control of and it was even far less so to keep.

The Breton had intended to confirm with the Jarl while still at High Hrothgar, but the man had all but vanished once the proceedings had finished. She begrudgingly changed her plans and returned to Whiterun to seek him out, cursing the man for causing even further delay to ending the threat of the dragons.

He did not know what would happen once she captured a dragon – as implausible as that sounded; though as Dragonborn, perhaps the task was not as daunting as it sounded. He hoped they would meet once more before she sought out Alduin – the dragon that brought about the conflict. The dragon whose death could end the war.

Marieka was determined enough, but that didn't mean she was invincible.

He wandered back to the throne room and contemplated the possible outcomes to the situation. As he surveyed the great hall that stretched before him, he slumped down into his seat. He despised inaction and to Ulfric, waiting was the greatest torture of all.

* * *

><p>"Sifnar, you imbecile!"<p>

The bellowing of Galmar echoed through the corridors as Ulfric made his way from his chambers to the throne room. He shook his head, wondering what the volatile man was on about so early in the morning. As he addressed the Palace's cook, he could only assume the outburst had something to do with the planned banquet that evening. With the temporary armistice throughout the land, all senior officers in the Stormcloak army had been invited to Windhelm for a feast. It was time to recognize their efforts, but also to update them on the current situation. The soldiers were also not forgotten; an extra supply run of some of the more luxurious items available in the province was underway. Spiced wine, mead, the finest cured meats and cheeses and fruit were being shipped across Skyrim to each of the Stormcloak camps in an attempt to boost morale.

"You will go to the end of Eastmarch to find what you need for this night, if you have to," Galmar growled loudly as Ulfric stepped through the door into the large room.

"What seems to be the problem?" Ulfric asked.

Sifnar lowered his head and looked to the ground.

"I have been unable to locate a reasonably priced source for several of the ingredients you requested for this evening, my Jarl," he mumbled.

"And that is _not_ an excuse!" Galmar interrupted.

"Now, now, Galmar," Ulfric calmly replied. "If he cannot source the ingredients, we don't need him to spend our last septims trying to do so." He turned to face the cook to address him. "You have rarely caused me concern in our kitchens, Sifnar. Do what you must to either find ingredients or create new dishes."

The man looked at the Jarl with hesitation.

"What is it? You look concerned."

"I am uncertain how I will be able to do so with so little time left," the cook said quietly.

"Then waste no further time with me and get back to your staff," Ulfric demanded.

Without another word, the cook nodded and quickly headed back to the kitchens to prepare the meal.

"This is an important evening for us, Galmar," Ulfric reminded his second-in-command. "We haven't ever had an opportunity to meet with so many of our senior officers. They will have the chance to exchange strategies and—"

"All the more reason to ensure the food is perfect," he said, cutting Ulfric short. "I've always said that cook is incompetent."

Ulfric sighed. "He doesn't make mammoth stew the way you like it. That's well known, Galmar. Don't hold it against the man."

He continued to grumble to himself as he sat down at the long table.

"I'd rather not think about the stew," he said. "But – and I hate to admit it – you are right about not digging too deep into the coffers for this."

The Jarl nodded. "This is about morale and strategy, not showmanship. I would almost—"

He stopped speaking suddenly, interrupted by the main doors to the palace being flung open. A small-framed individual hurried inside shouting for Ulfric.

"My Jarl! My Jarl! I have news!"

He moved to the head of the table and pulled the chair out to sit down. The young man continued to approach, reaching him quickly once he was seated.

"Yes? What is it?" he asked.

"My Jarl, you requested to be notified if and when the Dragonborn re-entered the city," the man sputtered. "She has been spotted at Hjerim."

"Good," Ulfric replied. "She is just in time to attend our banquet this eve. Fetch her for me."

"You want…me…to…to fetch the Dr-dragonborn?" the young man stuttered.

"Are you incapable of completing such a task?" Galmar growled without looking up at him.

"No," he replied. "No, I just…I…"

"I trust you know your way to Hjerim," Ulfric stated. "Go. Retrieve the Breton for me."

"Of course, my Jarl," he exclaimed. He turned around quickly and his pace quickened the further he was from the two men. By the time he reached the door, he was almost in a full sprint.

Ulfric looked back at Galmar, who was shaking his head.

"Bootlicker."

* * *

><p>Through no fault of the messenger he sent to find her, Marieka arrived to speak with Ulfric late in the afternoon. She made a point of advising him that the young man had been insistent to bring her immediately and that she had instructed him not to return without her. He smiled at her explanation, knowing full well that the messenger wouldn't have been punished necessarily, but likely would have received an earful from Galmar; the man didn't seem to know how to stay out of business that he wasn't involved in.<p>

As they stood alone in the library near Ulfric's chambers, he watched her carefully as she explained her plans. If she was nervous about the upcoming days, her body language didn't betray her. She was quieter than normal, but her voice never wavered. She calmly discussed her plans: how she had sent Brynjolf ahead to Riften to begin gathering her provisions and weapons for the long, solitary journey ahead; how she would leave for Riften to spend a final few days with her lover before setting off to Whiterun to seek out the dragon who would help take her where she needed to go. She didn't explain much beyond Whiterun; partially because she couldn't say, but also because she didn't know. There were a great many unknowns to her quest, yet she maintained a steely façade. She displayed no fear to him.

"Marieka," he asked her as she turned to look out of the window. "How are you feeling?"

"What do you mean?" she inquired, peering back over her shoulder.

"I can't tell if you're putting on a brave front for my benefit," he answered, "or if you really believe everything is going to go as smoothly as you suggest it will."

He saw her shoulders rise and fall in a sigh as she turned back to face the window once more. Almost undetected, he saw her right arm quiver into a prolonged shake. Her disguise was cracking. He approached her from behind and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. She shivered when she felt him near.

"Marieka, it's me," he reassured her. "You don't have to hide."

She slowly turned around and looked up at him. Suddenly worry clouded her expression and her words did not come easy.

"Ulfric, I'm…_terrified_ of what's coming," she admitted. "I'm so afraid of…I don't want to die. I'm not ready to lose this life yet."

He pulled her into his arms and held her close. He felt her shaking and tried to formulate the proper response for her.

"Don't lose faith in yourself," he said quietly. "You've been through worse."

She pulled back from him. "Worse than this? Worse than the World-Eater?"

"What I'm saying is that I believe in you. I believe that you will be able to end this threat. You will be our saviour."

She frowned. "Thanks Ulfric. No pressure there."

He smirked. "I'm not trying to pressure you. I'm telling you that I have confidence in you. I know that you can do this."

The tiniest of smiles appeared on her face.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "I appreciate what you're trying to do."

"Trying?" he repeated. "Is it not working?"

"Well, I don't have any intentions of backing out of this," she replied. "If that's what you're asking."

"Just don't lose faith," he said. "And even if you falter, don't forget that there are others that believe in you. Including that thief of yours, I would wager."

She nodded.

"What will you do until the end?" she asked.

"You mean 'until you get back', right?"

"Yes," she sighed. "Until I get back."

"That's better," he replied. "I have plenty of things to keep busy with."

He discussed all the things his advisors reported to him upon his return; the Argonians, the shipwrecked traders, the robberies.

"You _will_ have plenty of things to keep you busy. Don't forget about me," she quipped.

"I could never forget about you, Marieka."

Her lip trembled for a moment.

"Ulfric, you've been so kind to me. And supportive. I just…want to thank you. You know, if…something happens."

He shook his head.

"Marieka, don't say that. You will see this through. And when you return, we will celebrate by ending our war with the Empire," he said.

She stood silently for a few moments, but then smiled.

"I must go, Ulfric. I have much to prepare before I leave Windhelm. I will keep your words close. I'm sure I will need them," she said.

A final embrace before she turned and left was the last they would share that day.

* * *

><p>Several days after the successful banquet for his Stormcloak officers, Ulfric sat upon his throne, surveying the room in front of him. It was currently empty, save for the two guards near the door. As his eyes traveled around the room, everything seemed peaceful and in its proper place; at least until he noticed the note and a small coin purse near the head of the table.<p>

He stood up and approached the table; as he neared the note, he could see his name written on it. He reached for the note, unfolded it and began to read.

_Dear Ulfric,_

_I am leaving for Riften now. I wanted to thank you again for your words. I won't forget your support. I hope you're correct about my ability to finish this. I do wish to see victory for the Stormcloaks. And I want to be a part of that._

_I also wanted to ask a favour of you. You once asked me to look into the situation with the Aretino residence, and our conversation the other day reminded me of that. I told you I would and I have. The boy has taken up residence again in his family home. He has been through a terrible ordeal and I hope that you can trust me when I say that he should remain there. I have some business to attend to in Riften prior to heading to Whiterun, but if I do not return, I want you to take this coin purse to the boy. It should be enough for him to survive off of for quite some time. I know that you have bigger things to worry about – perhaps you can find someone you trust to help with this if you cannot. But check in with him from time to time. I think he will be fine on his own given a chance to heal. Maybe you can even hire him to do odd jobs around the palace…I'm sure he would be useful. Don't question him…or my motives._

_If I don't return, know that I have always appreciated your friendship and your advice. You've been more of a father to me than my own father was in just the short time we've been acquainted. I'll never forget what you've done for me._

_I'm terrible at goodbyes…_

_Marieka_

He picked up the coin purse and folded the letter with a smile.

_Charitable to the end,_ he thought, but corrected himself.

"No. This isn't an end. She'll be fine."

He hoped to the gods that he was right.


	43. Brynjolf XIII

**This writing thing. It's like pulling teeth.**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Brynjolf XIII<em>**

As he rolled over, the partially open window coverings allowed the brightness of the day to filter into the room and directly on to Brynjolf's face. Even with his eyes closed, it was enough to rouse him from his slumber. He opened his eyes slowly, but when his eyes adjusted to the light, Marieka was not there beside him.

"Mari?" he called, breaking the silence of Honeyside.

"In here," came the reply from the other room.

He sat up quickly, spinning off of the bed to place his feet on the floor. He felt stiff as he did so and reached towards the ceiling to arch his back into a deep stretch. When he peered into the kitchen area, he could see Marieka sitting at the dining table, hunched over it. Padding quietly towards her, he adjusted his bed clothes and almost reached for a fresh tunic until he felt the warmth of the fire still present in the room.

She glanced over at him as he approached and smiled.

"I'd rather you not put on that tunic anyhow, love," she purred. "I enjoy gazing at you in that state of undress."

He chuckled as he placed his hands upon her shoulders and bent forward to give her a kiss on the cheek.

"What are you doing up and dressed so early?" he asked. "I thought we had planned to lounge around for a full day before you headed back to Whiterun."

"We did, but I…had some business to attend to." She continued to hunch forward, writing what appeared to be a letter.

"Guild business?" If that was it, he hadn't heard anything about it.

She shook her head quickly.

"Personal."

"Ah," he replied. "Too personal to let me know about it?"

She pushed the chair she sat on away from the table and looked up at him.

"Brynjolf, you trust my judgment, do you not?"

His face creased with worry for a moment. "Of course I do."

"Then trust me when I say that some things I cannot share with you," she replied. "At least, not right at this moment."

He stepped back from where she sat for a moment. She sensed his concern and stood up, taking both of his hands into hers.

"I understand," he said quietly. "But…I worry about you." He let go of one of her hands and placed his gently upon her stomach. "Both of you."

She placed her free hand atop his in response as she smiled at him.

"I know you do."

He pulled her towards him and held her close. When she buried her face into his chest, he reached up to stroke her hair softly.

"I want to come with you to Whiterun," he said.

She pulled back and looked up at him.

"I thought we already discussed this."

"We did," he replied with a frown. "I'm not happy with the decision."

"You know that you can't come with me beyond the city."

"I know. It doesn't matter. I want to be with you as long as I can," he said.

"I—" she began to protest; the expression on his face stopped her from doing so any further. "Okay. Come with me."

He smiled once more. "Thank you, Mari. I just want to make sure you're safe for however long I can do so."

"You can't always be with me, Brynjolf," she pointed out.

"I can try."

He felt her fingertips lightly brush against his cheek as she gazed into his eyes. They trailed along his jaw line and over his chin as she pulled away from him and moved to sit down once more. She looked back up at him as she pulled her chair in.

"I'll only be a few more moments," she said, "and then, I'm yours."

Her attention turned back to the correspondence she wrote and she picked up her quill to continue.

* * *

><p>The day was unseasonably warm. The sun had long since burned off the misty haze that settled over the canals; though the gentle yet sustained breezes blowing through the walled city of Riften would have dispersed the fog at any rate. Even the surrounding lands of the Rift were considerably pleasant. Brynjolf decided it was time to take advantage of the conditions and convinced Marieka to take a walk with him. Preferring to avoid others – particularly those in the Guild – they exited Honeyside and circled the city's outer wall. The stables were deserted; at the main gate stood a single guard. He merely nodded at the pair as they headed towards the eastern wall.<p>

When they were out of the gate guard's earshot, Brynjolf halted his forward motion.

"It's been a while since we've been to Nightingale Hall," he casually stated. "Should we pay it a visit?"

It would mean a significantly longer stroll than she anticipated, but Marieka nodded in agreement.

"It could probably use some tidying up," she said. "Karliah has been traveling for some time now."

"Actually, I thought you might just appreciate the walk," he murmured. "It might be a while before you're able to just enjoy a few moments with me. And just be by yourself if you need to."

She smiled at him. "Thank you, Bryn. I do need that."

They started once more towards the sanctuary of the Nightingales in silence. The world was similarly quiet, save for the crackling of leaves underfoot and the occasional songbird. Every now and again, a wolf's cry could be heard from a distant hilltop in the mountains beyond the cave. Brynjolf silently thanked the gods no echoes of dragons could be heard on the winds that day.

Exchanges of small talk kept the mood light. The warmth of the day persisted as they neared their destination; so much so that they felt overdressed at times and removed the light cloaks they wore. Marieka breathed an audible sigh of relief when they finally reached the clearing that led to the cave's entrance; her pregnancy had been starting to draw on her energy.

As they entered the cave, Brynjolf took notice that it was decidedly less musty than the last time they had been there and settled on the fact that the turn towards the cold season in the south was the cause of the fresher air – even with the unseasonable weather that day. He followed her into the cave and watched as she strode carefully over the unsteady rocks leading to the main hall. She stopped on the bridge and turned to watch the water cascade from above; the cool mist from the waterfall danced in the air in front of her and sprinkled her face in a light spray. Her eyes closed and she smiled.

Brynjolf stood back at the start of the bridge and watched her. She delighted in the experience and let a laugh escape as her smile widened.

"What's got you giggling so?"

She opened her eyes and looked over at him, the smile still stretching across her face.

"It reminds me of where I grew up," she began. "The warm seasons were beautiful on the coast and my mother would take me to Illiac Bay. If we walked north beyond all the fishing hovels near the mouth of the river, there was sand as far as the eye could see. We used to swim as often as we could, but the days I remember best were when the leaves began to change colours. My mother and I would walk to the beaches on those days – there was always a crisp, cool wind coming off of the water. It would spray the salty water across our faces and we would just stand there, holding hands facing the bay."

She stopped speaking and grew silent, reflecting upon her memories.

"Mari?"

Blinking, she turned to him. "I miss her so much, Bryn. I…I just want her to be here. To put her arms around me and tell me everything will work out. That it will all be okay."

He approached her and took her hands gently.

"Close your eyes," he whispered as he squeezed her hands in his. "She is with you, Marieka. She is always with you."

He saw her lip quiver momentarily, before settling into a small smile. She nodded slowly.

"I know," she replied. "I know she is."

"And I am, too."

She opened her eyes and looked up at him, lifting her hand up to palm his cheek.

"I know you are."

They continued to walk through the caverns and corridors of the Hall; Brynjolf stepped back every so often to allow Marieka to reflect upon whatever she needed to. When they returned to the hall of glyphs, Brynjolf recalled the day they were called to be Nightingales by Nocturnal. Even as they stood in their newly acquired armour, he could sense her nervousness. She stood and watched as Karliah offered the pair up to Nocturnal in order to gain the strength to take down Mercer Frey. He remembered back to the night they confronted him; how strong and powerful Marieka had become compared to when he'd first encountered her. And how he'd witnessed that night for the first time, her Thu'um.

The two had gone through more than he could ever imagine a couple going through in one lifetime. It made him wary of the near future.

But that was a worry for another day. For this day belonged to them to revel in.

* * *

><p>The return to Riften was as quiet as the journey to Nightingale Hall. Brynjolf sensed Marieka was dragging her heels on more than one occasion – perhaps attempting to draw out the afternoon for as long as possible. Such perfect days came along infrequently with the state of the province and the threat of the dragons. If he could have, he'd have frozen the world around them to give her all the time she wanted.<p>

The southern wall of the city and Mistveil Keep came into view on the horizon far quicker than they both hoped it would. As they walked towards the city, he felt her tugging him towards the eastern wall.

"Let's just walk through the city," he suggested.

"But…I…"

"Mari, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," she sighed. She quickly tossed her cloak over her shoulders and pulled up the hood, as if she'd caught a chill. Brynjolf shrugged the whole display off and continued to walk towards the south gate into Dryside.

By all appearances, there was a commotion on the wooden path that led to Honorhall Orphanage. He strained to see past the crowd that had gathered, even prompting Marieka to stop.

"Bryn, let's just keep going," she pleaded. "I don't want to get involved in whatever seems to be going on."

"It'll just take a moment," he replied. "I want to know what's got everyone's interest."

"I'm…I'll just wait by the market," she groaned.

He felt her withdraw her hand from his and let her move away as he closed in on the small crowd. He could see several guards holding the onlookers back as more guards moved in and out of the orphanage doorway. Hushed whispers flew between members of the crowd, but he could barely make out anything worthwhile.

The group fell silent as they saw Maven Black-Briar exit the orphanage with a scowl upon her face. She barely made eye contact with anyone as she pushed past the guards and spectators.

"Go back to your busy lives, peasants," she growled to no one in particular.

As the crowd slowly dispersed, Brynjolf stepped towards a guard, idly standing to the right of the door.

"What's the news?" he asked.

"No news," the guard replied.

"You sure, lad? Awful lot of fuss over no news," he insisted slyly.

"Maven Black-Briar doesn't want us talking about it." The guard shifted nervously.

"I could make it worth your while to talk about it," Brynjolf purred and walked past the guard towards the side of the building. He leaned against the orphanage wall and waited.

It didn't take long for the guard to join him.

"So…what do you mean 'worth my while'?"

Brynjolf pulled a small coin purse from his pocket and dangled it in front of the guard's face. The man immediately reached for it as the thief quickly pulled it out of his range.

"Uh uh uh," he smirked. "Not until I hear what I'm paying for."

The guard sighed and looked around quickly. He leaned in towards Brynjolf.

"Poor Constance found the old woman dead in her bed this morning," he whispered.

"Grelod?" he asked. "So why the fuss? She's a wee bit long in the tooth, don't you think?"

The guard shook his head.

"Murdered. Throat slit from ear to ear. Been questionin' the runts all morning. Say they don't know nothin', but I don't know 'bout all that."

"Interesting," he replied, furrowing his brow. He turned to leave. "Thanks."

"Oye," the guard whispered harshly. "What about my coin?"

"Right," Brynjolf smirked as he tossed the small bag at the guard.

The guard missed the bag. As he bent over to pick it up off the ground, Brynjolf chuckled and pocketed the septims he had lifted from the guard while being told of the murder.

It wasn't until he turned towards the market that he could see where Marieka was standing. A cloaked figure was moving away from her and as he approached, she quickly shoved something into her pocket.

"Well?" she asked when he reached her. "Satisfied?"

"Hmm."

"What does that mean?" she asked, scrunching up her face.

"Someone murdered Grelod."

"The old woman?" she exclaimed.

He nodded. "They found her in her bed this morning."

"Hmm."

"And what does _that_ mean?" he chuckled.

"Well, the woman _did_ kind of deserve it," she said, shrugging.

His eyes widened as he tried to hold in a hearty laugh. "My, my, Marieka. You certainly can be malevolent."

Her giggle was a bit nervous and she immediately turned to head to their home.

"Let's go," she insisted. "This day is running out and I still want to ravish you one last time before my journey begins."

She grabbed his hand and pulled him in the direction of Honeyside. It didn't take long before the momentum had shifted and he was pulling her. Brynjolf was a patient man, but when it came to the thoughts that her statement began to stir within him, he could no longer wait.

* * *

><p>Eyes open.<p>

He could see the ceiling beams in the light of the hearth fire as his eyes focused. It was dark outside. It didn't feel as though he'd been asleep for long, but a smile quickly crossed his lips when he recalled the moments he'd been a part of in the past number of hours. It was a night he'd not soon forget, which suited him fine based on the very much unknown future.

Brynjolf found himself rolling over once more to a vacant bed. He placed his hand on Marieka's side of the bed and discovered it to be cool. She had not been in the bed for some time. He sat up and wiped his eyes.

"Mari," he called out. "Are you writing notes again?"

Silence.

"Mari?"

He leaned over on the bed to look into the kitchen.

No one was there.

He peered down the steps. Perhaps she couldn't hear him due to concentrating on some alchemic concoction.

No one.

"Mari?"

His voice betrayed his worry. He rushed to the back door of the home, opening it quickly to find no one waiting on the other side. He looked around in a panic.

_A note. Did she leave a note?_

Nothing.

"Marieka!"

It was at that time he noticed the front door was not latched fully. He hurried to open the door and saw nothing suspicious. No one but a guard patrolling the city.

"Evenin'," the guard said.

"You…uh…has the Thane passed through the city?" he stuttered.

The guard shook his head. "Haven't seen the Thane since the sun was up."

He breathed heavily, mumbling a thank you to the guard before closing the door and heading to the bedroom.

Brynjolf stopped and stood for a moment at the centre of the house, trying to calm his breathing. His eyes fell upon the corner of the room where she'd tossed the cloak in their hurry to undress each other when they returned from their walk. He quickly grabbed it and dug around its pockets. What had she shoved in there while standing in the market? Who was the cloaked figure? And _where was she?_

He felt a piece of crumpled parchment – a small note. Pulling it from the pocket, he hastily unfolded it.

It fell to the floor as his heart jumped into his throat.

He'd heard the rumours, but had never encountered them himself. But the handprint in blood could mean only one thing – the Dark Brotherhood existed. And they were targeting Marieka.


	44. Astrid

**I've been a terrible narrator. Sorry for taking so long with this one; life's been getting in the way. I'm also working on another piece for GwtV: In Her Own Words, so keep an eye out for that. Hoping to keep updating this one at a better pace, but let's face it. I'm not very good at following through on that promise these days.**

**One big problem is that despite having the story written in my head, I'm second guessing a couple of outcomes, so it's delaying the process. I'm considering writing the story with the changes, and perhaps releasing a few chapters at the end that serve as the original alternate ending. Perhaps that will make it easier to get the damn story finished.**

**Anyway, hope you enjoy.**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Astrid<em>**

_I breed, deep in me, a beautiful thing_  
><em>And I need energy for my beautiful thing<em>  
><em>But pain for days has stayed with me<em>  
><em>Expect to see a change in me<em>  
><em>From happy to frown<em>  
><em>I'm on my way down<em>

_"Waydown", Catherine Wheel (Dickinson, Futter, Hawes, Sims)_

* * *

><p>"There are rumours in the Rift."<p>

"There are _always_ rumours in the Rift, Arnbjorn."

"They are applicable to us this time."

The eyes that had been focused upon the sanctuary's cascading water turned towards the form of her husband. Arnbjorn sat next to her on the steps, elbows on knees, forehead on palms. His posture easily betrayed his frustration with the news he'd been privy to.

Astrid sighed. "I know."

He lowered one of his hands and glanced sidelong at her.

"Then you know _someone_ has been stealing our kills," he growled.

"One kill," she retorted. "Don't overreact."

"I'm shocked at how little of a deal you're making of this, Astrid."

"Why are you making such a big deal of it?" she asked. "I already have agents in the Rift investigating. We will find out who made the mark."

"And then?"

Astrid smirked at the anger her husband displayed.

"And then we will offer this individual a choice. Join us or die."

He nodded slowly.

"That sounds better," he said approvingly. "It worries me when you seem to be losing your edge."

"Don't ever doubt me, my love," she warned. "It may be your last mistake."

He snarled, lip curling over his teeth, as he pulled her on to his lap. "It would be nothing less than an honour to taste your blade, woman."

His teeth grazed along her neck causing her to quiver in his arms. She ran her fingernails along his jawline, scratching his chin lightly.

She smiled at him. "The day may yet come, husband. For now, I shall depart for Riften. There is business to attend to."

"This encounter is not ended," he said, licking his lower lip in anticipation.

"I'm counting on that."

* * *

><p>Travelling across Skyrim on the hunt for a would-be assassin was not at the top of Astrid's list of desirable ways to pass the time. It easily followed a respectable strategy for the Dark Brotherhood, a hearty meal of mammoth stew, curling up with Arnbjorn next to a warm fire on a cold night and several other slightly menial tasks she could not bother to think of as she slid off her mount near the outskirts of Riften. At the top of that list resided the feeling of cold steel in her hand as it slid across the throat or in between the ribs of a contract. There was no better feeling in the world.<p>

Yet, here she was. Forced to contend with the fact that the Black Sacrament had been performed and someone else had answered the call. Someone else had stolen the kill from within the grasp of the Brotherhood. And someone would have to answer for that.

She sighed loudly as she strode through the trees in the direction of the rendezvous point. It wasn't as though she didn't trust her associates; on the contrary. She trusted them with her life. But they were assassins, not negotiators. They'd have killed this one before thinking. No, she had to perform this task herself.

Curiosity needed sating; Astrid had to know who took on the task of killing the witch that ran the orphanage. In full view of the children who resided there, no less. At least, it was her hope that one or two of them may have seen who completed the deed. It would make things much easier for her – a name, a description…anything to help track her target down.

Astrid's contact had not yet arrived. She spied a tree, perfect for climbing and ascended it swiftly. The sun was filtering through the leaves, warming the air from its ever present chill. She pulled her hood tightly to her head, dangling her leg off of the branch she sat on.

It seemed odd; the whole situation. Why would someone not associated with the Brotherhood take a contract? How would they even know it was a contract? The Black Sacrament was a rumour...a whisper in the dark. Only those who took the time to do their research would know of it – those who were looking to utilize the Sacrament as a way of contacting the Brotherhood. These days, there weren't too many of those. That was precisely the reason Arnbjorn had displayed such anger over the incident; there simply weren't enough assassination contracts to go around. The Brotherhood had been suffering and Astrid had taken it upon herself to turn things around for her associates.

As she contemplated the circumstances, the soft shamble of feet propelling through leaves could be heard from below. She manoeuvred around the trunk of the tree just enough to catch a glance of the source of the noise, her contact.

She observed him from above for a short time. He shuffled his feet through the detritus and into the dirt as he stood nervously near the tree she sat in. She could hear him muttering to himself, but could not make out the words. After a few moments, she silently lowered herself from the branch and hovered behind him. Her feet dangled above the ground as she stared at the back of the man's head.

A shiver caught her spine and her lips curled into a smile. The pose she found herself in was not unfamiliar. She used such a technique on several marks; lowering from a rooftop or a tree branch behind the poor, unsuspecting soul seconds before brandishing her dagger and burying it deep beneath the skin. The sound of a gasp, followed by the ragged last breaths of the target was one she kept with her. The expression upon her victim's face was always the part she craved the most. Once the dagger slid out, she would let the body descend to the ground. As it crumpled, inevitably the eyes would flutter open and closed. The mouth would fall into a small circular form, as breath and soft sound escaped it sadly. The lips quivered. Those with the most regret had a tell – the tiniest of tear drops forming at the corners of eyes. The sparkle and light in the pupils slowly flickered out until they appeared only as glass.

It was art. It was magic.

Few appreciated the beauty in death that Astrid had come to know.

Her fingers released from the tree branch above her and her feet planted delicately on the ground. The leaves that crackled under her feet, however, signaled her presence the man in front of her and he spun around, startled at the sight of her.

"I...you scared the shit out of me!" he exclaimed.

"You should be more aware of your surroundings," she warned. "Fortunate that you were not one of my targets."

He nodded quickly in agreement.

She could not fault him for his lack of alertness. He was, after all, simply a gatherer of information. She only wished for him not to be followed, and it seemed as though that was where his attention had been focused that moment.

"What have you learned?" she inquired.

"A woman," he replied. "She is no unsophisticated type. In fact, she is the Thane of this city."

Astrid's eyebrow rose. "The Thane?"

"And...there are rumours."

"There are _always_ rumours."

"She is a thief. She consorts with the Guild."

"Damn it." She was unimpressed by this latest revelation.

She had finally just sorted out somewhat of an agreement with Delvin Mallory to fence goods and all of that could be jeopardized due to the actions of this woman. She began to pace between the trees as her contact watched.

"I suppose I could speak to Mallory," she mused aloud. "Find out just how far embedded this woman is with the guild. But if she risks all that we've worked for, I'll kill her myself." She stopped suddenly, spinning quickly towards the man. "What does she know?"

"I have delivered the note, just as you asked," he replied, his voice cracking.

"Good," she said, satisfied that the veiled threat had been given. "Show me to the new safe house. The last was compromised."

He nodded and led her through the forest and into the Rift. She would see to it that this would-be assassin would not throw into disarray everything she had worked out with the Thieves Guild. She had more than a generous offer for the woman. She was sure to accept.

* * *

><p>The home was easier to get into than Astrid could have ever imagined.<p>

A simple lock on the door. Nothing else.

Then, she supposed, when two members of the Thieves Guild live under the same roof, it is likely that no one thinks to cross them.

The information she had been provided by her contact and those who were at the safe house when she arrived was invaluable and spot on. Maps, guard routes and schedules, everything she needed was available to her. It appeared someone was in tight with Maven Black-Briar and her family, as few others would have access to as much.

The man in the bed was a heavy sleeper. The woman, not as much. Despite her every attempt at silence, still the floor boards in the small home creaked. The woman, Marieka, stirred. Astrid hastily made her way to the side of the bed, applying the alchemical concoction meant to keep her asleep. She waited for her to fall back into the deep potion-induced sleep, leaning against a nearby wardrobe. Tilting her head, she gazed upon the two as they lay there, her arm draped across his waist and head nuzzled into his neck. The relationship was evident, even as they lay sleeping.

_No, Astrid,_ she thought to herself. _Do not embroil yourself in this one's business. You are here for one purpose._

The thought brought that purpose back to the forefront of her mind and she quickly lifted the woman from the bed. She was thankful the Breton was small-framed; tossing her over her shoulder was not as difficult a task as it would have been were she a Nord. She peered over her shoulder as she reached the door to the home; the man had still not moved. When she carefully opened the door, she could see her associates in the shadows across the path to the home. One of them signalled for her to wait. She pushed the door slightly closed and soon after heard the footsteps of the unaware guard making his rounds.

When she looked out again after the guard had moved on, the man nodded and she quickly moved out of the house and towards her partners. She passed the woman to one of the men and the trio quickly made their way through the darkened streets of Riften past the oblivious guards.

It was to be a long journey to their destination north of Morthal. The men who accompanied her had prepared a cart with horses to travel to the shack. If they traveled straight through the night, they would reach it by dawn, reducing the chance of any unwanted attention. And then, they would see. It would be a long night. Once she climbed into the cart and they readied to depart, Astrid leaned her head back and closed her eyes. It didn't take long for sleep to overtake her.

* * *

><p>The shack was nondescript. A simple wooden planked building with thatched roof. It barely kept the winds out, let alone the heat in. Regardless, a small fire provided some warmth and light while Astrid waited for the woman to awaken. It wouldn't be much longer.<p>

The two were not alone. Three individuals – bound with hoods over their heads – were kneeling near the wall furthest from where Astrid sat atop a cabinet. She had warned the three that they would be slain immediately if they spoke before being spoken to, and so they remained silent, save for measured breathing.

Marieka lay on a small mat on her back, arms sprawled to the sides. She was in her bed clothes, just as she was taken from her home. She posed little threat to Astrid with no weapons or armour to speak of.

She stirred, sitting upright suddenly. A sense of panic seemed to overtake her body, as Astrid could see her seize up defensively.

"Relax, Marieka," she purred. "You are in no danger at the moment."

The Breton's head spun to face the voice addressing her.

"Who are…where the…?" She spit half sentences out like venom.

"Your questions will be answered in moments," Astrid assured. Her leg dangled in a subtly seductive motion off of the cupboard as she let her silky words fill the room. "Make no sudden movements and you will not be harmed. So long as you follow my instructions."

"Your instructions," she protested. "I don't even—"

"I said all will be clarified," the Nord interrupted. "Your patience would be wisely given."

Marieka breathed heavily, but did not reply.

"Good," she began. "My name is Astrid. I am an assassin with the Dark Brotherhood. Oh yes, we _do_ exist." She chuckled quietly. "It would seem that a certain young man in Windhelm performed the Dark Sacrament. You may be aware that such a ritual is meant to summon the Brotherhood to be tasked with elimination of the mark of the one who calls us. In this case, Grelod the Kind was the mark in question. And you, my dear, took it upon yourself to execute our mark."

Marieka shifted nervously, uncertain of the intent of the woman speaking to her.

"The Aretino boy. He…no one answered his call," she disputed.

"You don't know that," Astrid growled. "You have no idea what was happening behind the scenes before you…intervened."

"I only wanted to help the children," she stated. "That woman was a witch."

"Yes," Astrid replied. "She was. Make no mistake. The Dark Brotherhood is more than pleased that the woman was dispatched of so…efficiently. However, the fact remains that the kill was ours. And you stole that kill. That debt must be repaid."

The Breton drew in a deep breath. "How?"

"Join us," the assassin said.

"Join you?" Marieka repeated. "But, I—"

"You have not noticed them yet," Astrid interrupted, "but behind you are three individuals. Each is wicked in his or her own way, but one is perhaps more wicked than the others. Someone has placed a contract on one of their heads."

She spun around at the mention of the three behind her and looked from one to the next.

"I can't kill them!" she exclaimed.

"Why not?" Astrid countered. "You killed Grelod."

"But, that was…different," she disputed.

"Oh? Your conscience has limits, does it?"

"You don't know anything about me, assassin," Marieka hissed.

"I know that you're willing to kill for money," she countered.

"No!" she shouted.

"Then you only steal for the profits, is that it?"

Marieka gasped.

"Did you think I wasn't aware of your hobbies, Marieka?" she said, smirking and descending from the cupboard slowly. "Did you think that I didn't know about how you've risen through the ranks of the Thieves Guild in Riften? That I didn't know about the bed you share with the Nord thief?"

The Breton's face fell.

"Astrid," she pleaded, "I can't. I can't do this. I'm…I am pregnant."

The assassin knelt down in front of her and lifted up her chin to look into her eyes.

"Then I suggest you make the right decision."

Marieka sighed dejectedly. She turned once more to face the three.

"How do I choose?" she asked.

"They are free to speak to you should you pose questions to them," Astrid explained. "Take your time and make your choice, but do not take _too _much time."

Astrid stood and moved backward to lean against the cupboard. She watched Marieka as she moved from captive to captive, asking questions to determine each one's worthiness to continue living. After speaking to each, she thanked them. _Thanked_ them. Astrid chuckled inwardly at the display the Breton continued to put on.

When she had finished the task, Marieka turned around and approached Astrid slowly.

"How do I…?"

"You've made your choice?"

Marieka nodded.

"There are several small blades on the shelf," she said, motioning towards the dilapidated bookcase behind her. "You're welcome to use one. Unless you can think of a more creative method."

She walked to the shelf and examined the weapons. A long dagger caught her eye and she picked it up as she turned towards the three. She took a few steps towards them and stopped, looking towards the blade in her hands.

"Stop stalling," Astrid demanded.

Marieka turned around quickly. The assassin's eyes widened as she saw a ball of bright energy forming near the woman's palm. She stretched her arm out towards Astrid and sent a bolt of lightning directly at her torso.

The blast sent her reeling and she crumpled to the floor, grasping at her stomach. Without warning, Marieka was upon her, driving the dagger into her chest.

It quickly became apparent that one of the more important rumours – and truths – about Marieka had not come to light.

"A…mage?" she sputtered.

She withdrew the blade from the assassin's body and stood up, turning to walk away. She took several steps, stopped and wiped the blade upon her bedclothes.

"Well…done," Astrid said, her head lolling to the side.

Marieka never turned back as she continued to walk towards the door of the shack, exiting just as Astrid's vision faded into unconsciousness.


	45. Ralof III

**Every so often, I make a decision from which I cannot turn back in this story. This chapter has one of those decisions. It was a tough one, but I don't think it is the wrong one. But, know that I weigh each and every aspect of this story before I release a chapter. I'd like to say that's why it takes me so long to write these days, but it turns out that I keep putting the whole thing off because I don't want to say goodbye. This story is way too close to being finished!**

**This was a rough chapter. Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Ralof III<strong>_

_In these few hours_  
><em>A breath of summertime has turned to winter rain<em>  
><em>In such little time, all my hope is gone<em>  
><em>Will it ever be the same?<em>  
><em>All I ever wanted was to see your face<em>  
><em>See a little smile for my little one<em>  
><em>And let you know…and let you know<em>

_You were everything_  
><em>Everything<em>

_'Zero', Lamb (Rhodes, Barlow)_

* * *

><p>The snows were heavy and wet. Heavier and wetter than any fall in recent memory. But their density was no match for the exceedingly strong western winds. The winds were such that the clumps of snow painted great horizontal strokes across the dreary firmament. The day did not bode well for travel; Ralof submitted to the elements and decided he would stay with the Stormcloaks at Hjaalmarch for another day.<p>

The Nord returned to the tent of Arrald Frozen-Heart. The men had completed their discussions regarding the temporary truce with the Legion on behalf of the Dragonborn. Had it not been for the storm that had blown in while he prepared to leave, Ralof would have already been on his way to the Stormcloak camps in The Pale and Winterhold. They were his final two destinations before returning to Windhelm to advise Ulfric that his troops in all holds had been advised of the break in fighting.

He leaned heavily on the table, glancing at the map that was spread out upon it. He knew the route well enough, but in this snow, even the most seasoned traveler could find themselves lost without the visibility of landmarks and trail markers. He surmised that waiting a day would likely not even cost him time; the delays he would face on the road, not to mention the extra resources he would need to bring, meant it was safer to just stay put.

As he pulled his furs tighter to his body in an attempt to stifle the chill in his bones, Ralof heard a commotion among the horses. They began to whinny, kicking up the snow underfoot. He looked out of the tent and saw two soldiers approaching the animals. He, too, began to walk towards where the horses were tied, seeing confusion on the face of the soldier who looked back at the other. Neither was sure why the animals were riled. Patting one of the mounts on its side gently, he walked towards the edge of the ridge where they stood. The trees were thick and the heavy snow made it near impossible to see down below.

With strained eyes, Ralof wrapped his hand around the trunk of a thin tree for balance as he peered over the edge. Nothing seemed out of place, until a slight movement caught his eye.

"I just saw something move down there," he called over his shoulder.

In response to his observation, one of the soldiers drew his blade and hurried to the path down the slope.

"Careful," Ralof warned, reaching for his own weapon.

As the man continued down the path, Ralof watched him approach the source of movement. It could have been an animal or a bandit, waiting to strike. It could have injured him to do so, but as a last resort, he was willing to back his fellow Stormcloak up by jumping off the cliff. But, it was unnecessary.

"There's someone here!"

"I'm coming down," he replied. "Don't get too close."

"It's a woman!" the soldier called up. "She looks hurt."

As Ralof caught up to the man, he could barely make out the crumpled form of a woman on the ground. She was barefoot and scarcely clothed for the weather. He sheathed his blade and knelt down in front of her.

"Hey," he said softly. "Are you injured?"

The woman mumbled something, but between the hair covering her face and the sound of the wind, he couldn't make out what she said. He reached his hand towards her face to brush the hair back, but she weakly grabbed for his hand to stop him. Her fingers were tinged blue and she pressed herself further against the ground, as if trying to burrow into it.

"We need to get you to the camp," he demanded.

She mumbled again; this time turning to face him. He could still not understand her, but her hair fell back, revealing the telltale marks of a woman he knew.

"Marieka?" he exclaimed. "What's happened to you?"

Without waiting for an answer, he jumped to his feet and reached down to lift her up. She fought feebly against his assistance, but he paid her protest no mind. The soldier with him ran back up the hill towards the camp; Ralof could hear him shouting for the camp's healer. He hurried quickly behind with the Breton in his arms.

"You're going to be all right, Marieka," he whispered to her. "We're going to help you."

The camp had sprung to life as the healer made his way to the main tent. Frozen-Heart signalled to Ralof to bring the woman there. He had begun to clear off the large wooden table; another man brought several furs and laid them upon it.

"Who is this woman? What happened here?" Arrald asked.

Ralof shook his head.

"She's a Stormcloak. Marieka. I don't know what she's been through," he replied. "She's not at all prepared for this weather. That is not like her."

The healer pushed the two men aside once Ralof lowered her gently on to the furs. He quickly wrapped her in them, recoiling in horror as his skin brushed against hers.

"She's beyond freezing. Keep her covered," he directed.

Ralof cupped her face gently, transferring a small amount of heat to her skin, but it was difficult for him to keep his hands on her skin; she was too cold.

The healer had run for supplies from his own tent and returned quickly. He spread the items on the ground, sorting out potions he'd already concocted. He tossed one to Ralof, directing him to have Marieka drink it.

Ralof lifted her head carefully and she blinked slowly as she tried to adjust her vision.

"Here, Marieka. Drink this," he said. "It will help to warm you up."

He brought the vial to her lips and poured the liquid slowly into her mouth. Swallowing was a challenge and she sputtered a little as she attempted to do so. In the dim light, he could see her face was puffy; a symptom of the long exposure to the cold she had experienced. Sadly, this was not the first case he'd seen and it would not be the last. The northern reaches of Skyrim were prone to blizzards that caught travelers unaware and left them vulnerable if they were unprepared – the precise reason Ralof himself did not leave the camp.

Her case was severe. He'd seen men lose fingers and toes, parts of noses and ears. He'd even seen several die from the cold. She was in a dangerous way and he feared for her life as she lay on the table. Her body temperature had dropped so low, she was past the point of shivering. Hope that she had been found in time was the only thing he could cling to.

As the healer worked away, concocting salves and potions to try to restore warmth to her body, Ralof continued to transfer his own heat to her slowly. He'd seen it before; warming the body too quickly with this level of exposure to the cold could result in death just as easily as allowing it to freeze.

With no idea of how much time had passed, the blue tone began to leave her skin, replaced by a sallow complexion; still unhealthy, but an improvement. Her breathing settled to normal rates and he could see the slow pulse in her throat as her heart pumped blood from her core to her extremities. Her condition was improving very slowly.

After several exhausting hours, her temperature had improved significantly. She regained her natural colour and while she continued to float in and out of consciousness, she was no longer confused or sluggish. She would survive.

Ralof took it upon himself to transfer her to a smaller tent with a small fire, sitting with her to ensure she continued to improve. Day turned into night; for much of it, sleep eluded him.

* * *

><p>"Brynjolf?"<p>

Marieka's weak voice calling for her companion woke Ralof from the uneasy slumber that finally took him. He wiped his eyes in the dim light of the dying fire and crawled towards where she lay under layers of fur.

"Marieka, it's Ralof," he whispered. "You're at the camp in Hjaalmarch."

"Hjaalmarch?" she repeated. "I don't…how did I get here?"

"We found you as you stumbled off the path," he answered. "You'd been on the road for far too long in the blizzard."

"The blizzard," she mouthed quietly.

He looked down at her. Her lips stuck together as she spoke, still dehydrated from the prior day's experience. Her eyes were glassy, but focused. There was a slight rosiness to her cheeks, indicating the treatment had been moderately successful.

"Do you remember anything?"

She blinked, and then looked up at him. "I…remember a shack."

"A shack? Were you headed to a shack?"

She slowly shook her head. "I was in a shack. There was a woman. She—"

He could see panic and confusion cross her face simultaneously.

"Relax, my friend," he reassured her. "You're safe."

"No," she protested, shaking her head. "I'm not safe."

The memories flooded back quickly: the three marks, bound and kneeling awaiting their deaths; the woman, Astrid; the decision made in haste to kill the assassin and flee. When the Brotherhood discovered what had transpired, she was sure to be sent for once again.

"You're out of the cold and out of harm's way," Ralof said, attempting to convince her.

"No, Ralof," she repeated. "It's the Brotherhood. They—"

His eyes widened.

"The assassins?" His voiced exhibited disbelief. He hadn't heard the name of that group for many years. "I didn't even know that order still existed."

"Oh, they exist," she replied. "It's…a long story, but I'm afraid they will not be giving up so easily on me. I did something I fear they will not be able to forgive."

He took one of her hands between his; she cringed from the pain of her frostbitten skin. His expression changed, offering an apology for causing discomfort as his grip eased.

"We will protect you, Dragonborn," he stated. "We will defend you to the death. Besides, there is no way anyone could have followed you through that storm to this camp. The winds and snow covered your tracks. And anyone who actually would try to follow you will suffer from exhaustion traveling through it."

"I appreciate your reassurances," she replied. "Forgive me, though, if I'm not convinced."

He placed her hands back on her stomach and covered her back up.

"We'll just have to convince you," he said, smiling. "Now, can I get you anything?"

She pondered for a moment. "I am feeling a bit hungry."

"I will find something for you!" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet. He moved towards the entrance of the tent and made to exit, but stopped as he heard a terrible noise emanate from Marieka. The yelp coupled with a deep groan made him spin around immediately.

She attempted to push herself up to a seated position, but doubled over, pulling her hands into her lap.

"What happened?" he asked. "Is it your hands?"

He hurried back and knelt next to her, concern upon his face.

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut.

"No!" she cried out. "My…"

She couldn't finish the statement and bit her lip hard. He attempted to ease her on to her back again, feeling her forehead for a temperature change. She was clammy, but it was not unexpected.

"What do you need? The healer?"

She nodded and he hurried out of the tent as she struggled with the pain. He found the healer quickly and brought him back to the tent. When the two men entered, Ralof stood back as the other man attended to her.

"Where is the pain, Marieka?" he asked. "Your stomach?"

Without answering, she looked up at him and opened her eyes. They watered as she opened her mouth to speak.

"My…baby," she replied. "Is something wrong with my baby?"

The two men looked at each other quickly.

"Let's have a look at you," the healer said, turning back to face her.

Ralof stepped back, nearly falling into the material of the tent. He turned and pushed through the entrance, grasping at his forehead.

_Pregnant? The Dragonborn is pregnant?_

The hand at his forehead fell and covered his mouth as he stood in the middle of the camp. The snow still fell, but the winds were lighter. A slight swirl through the camp blew the snow around him. He hoped for Marieka's sake – and for Brynjolf's – that the child growing inside her was safe. He found his thoughts turning to Kyne and Mara, silently praying for mercy for the life of her child.

He hoped it would be enough.

* * *

><p>The exhaustion of staying up to watch over Marieka had caught up with him. As he waited for the healer to attend to the Breton, he returned to his own tent and found himself nodding off.<p>

_I'll just crawl into my bedroll. Just for a few moments…_

The moments turned into hours. He woke to a tent brightened by the sunshine that had finally broken through the thick snow clouds. Stretching as he sat up, he crawled out of the tent and looked around. The day had turned surprisingly beautiful; the winds were nothing but a gentle breeze and the snow sparkled under the sun's rays.

Ralof took a deep breath, letting the crisp air fill his nostrils. As he exhaled, he remembered back to the events of earlier in the day. He needed to find the healer and check on Marieka's condition.

He spotted the man easily as he stood near the blacksmith while he worked. Ralof approached the two slowly, signaling for the healer's attention.

"So?" he prompted. "What is the news?"

The healer's mouth opened slightly, so as to speak, but no words came out. He merely shook his head.

Ralof's stomach fell and he swallowed slowly, attempting to clear the lump in his throat that had developed almost instantaneously.

_The baby is…gone?_

"How – how is she?" he stuttered.

"Physically, she is stable," the healer began. "I am concerned with her left hand and her feet. She may lose a finger from the frost. There was significant damage on her feet as well. Emotionally? Mentally?" The healer shook his head once again. "I'm not certain how to address this. She…did not speak. She has not shown emotion. When I told her, she…she shut down. It is as if she is paralyzed. She can move, but she does not respond to anything."

Ralof sighed, closing his eyes. He did not know how to approach the woman. He'd no idea she was even pregnant, nor how long, but the reaction described by the healer was one of devastation. What could he say to her? Was there really anything that _could _be said? His heart broke for her and her partner. What would Brynjolf do?

Suddenly, he remembered her words about the Brotherhood. _I did something I fear they will not be able to forgive._ What did she do? She had found herself in the storm when she attempted to flee them. This was their fault. This was their_ entire_ fault.

He thanked the healer for his work with the woman and steeled himself to speak to her. He knew it would not be easy. For either of them.

When he entered her tent, she was under the covers again, lying upon her back. Her eyes were open, cold and staring up. She did not flinch when she heard his movement; _if_ she even did hear him.

"Marieka?" he called softly.

She did not respond.

He knelt close to her, but her eyes did not waver.

"I'm…_so_ sorry, Marieka."

Silence.

Several uncomfortably long moments passed.

"I must leave for Whiterun immediately."

"Marieka, you can't," he said. "You have to wait. You must heal first."

"I will not be waiting," she replied unemotionally. "I must deal with Alduin."

"Alduin will wait—"

"No," she stated, her voice cracking. She looked directly at him. "Alduin will _not_ wait. Nothing will wait. Nothing _ever_ waits."

"You need to heal or you will not survive your encounter."

"I don't care," she replied. "Why does survival matter? It doesn't. I _don't_ care."

"Marieka," he sighed. "This is not the end."

Her eyes widened.

"You know _nothing_ of this, Ralof!" she screamed.

"I wish to send for Brynjolf," he replied. "You need him here."

"Don't you dare send for him," she replied. "Don't you _dare_."

Her face suddenly contorted, her eyes spilling tears upon her cheeks.

"Oh, Marieka. I want to help. What can I do?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head slowly.

"There's nothing…nothing you can do," she sobbed. "This…beautiful dream. It's gone. There is nothing left in me. I—I cannot face Brynjolf. I cannot tell him. How can I tell him that this child we created…is no more? How can I rip this from him?"

"It's not your fault," Ralof quietly replied. "This isn't your fault."

She rolled over on to her side, away from him. She sniffed heavily.

"I have to go to Whiterun."

Ralof placed a gentle hand upon her shoulder.

"Then I will take you there."

* * *

><p>Long before they had set off from the Stormcloak camp, correspondence had been sent to Ulfric Stormcloak – an emergency with the Dragonborn would prevent the completion of his task. A soldier from Windhelm would have to complete it. Ralof didn't care what discipline came his way over the decision. The woman was too stubborn to leave to her own devices. She'd have traversed half the province in poor physical health, abysmal emotional health and unstable mental health; none of which would have boded well for the imminent fight against the World-Eater. She was the only one who could stop Alduin. There were no other options.<p>

Marieka had instructed him to send for one of her companions; the Khajiit, Kharjo. She hoped he had remained in Whiterun at her home, but wasn't sure. If he remained, he was to prepare the home for her arrival, gathering supplies, weapons and ingredients for the journey ahead. She had no idea what she would be getting into as she sought out her adversary.

The day the weather had calmed, a scout was sent to watch for the Khajiit caravan that regularly traveled between Dawnstar and Whiterun. It passed near the camp and within four days' time, the scout reported back that it was on its way from the north. Ralof stopped the caravan, requesting they be allowed to join the group. They brought with them several carts and a wagon; Ahkari, the caravan's trader, remembered Marieka as the woman who returned Kharjo's amulet. Since his trip with Marieka to Blackreach, Kharjo had traveled with Ahkari's caravan only once, choosing to remain in Whiterun to assist the Dragonborn when she returned to the city. The trader was pleased her assistant had been able to aid the Breton in her quest; she worried when she heard of the woman's condition. She agreed to bring the two along with the caravan, providing them safe passage to Whiterun in exchange for a few newly-crafted weapons from the camp. She was also pleased that Ralof would provide additional protection on the road.

Before the caravan left from the camp, the healer expressed the desire to deal with the surficial injuries to Marieka's hands and feet. The frost had damaged her feet significantly, though it appeared as though they would heal. Her left hand, however, was another matter. The smallest finger had become infected and would not respond to any of his treatments. He feared that the infection would spread. He would have to remove the affected areas.

It was a difficult subject to broach, but losing a finger was nothing compared to losing a child and Marieka accepted the recommendation with as much grace as she could muster. Ahkari suggested that she provide a potion to help with the pain. The healer was not one for recommending the use of narcotics, but in this circumstance, the small amount of sleeping tree sap was just enough to increase the Breton's resiliency. Her ability to recover from the injuries had been compromised, so the potion assisted in slowing the blood and preventing the spread of the infection.

The procedure was quick. The hallucinogenic effects of the sap allowed her to be exempt from the pain of removing most of her finger. When all was said and done, Marieka was left to rest for a few more hours. The caravan readied itself for departure, as did Ralof. The healer gave him instructions to care for the wounds and when the Breton awoke, they said their final goodbyes to the Stormcloaks at the camp.

Now, as they descended from the hills in the northern part of the hold, Dragonsreach came into view. Their destination was only a short time away. As he walked behind the wagon, Ralof could see uneasiness in Marieka's body language. She steadied her breaths and held her hand on her stomach as if to will a certain nauseous feeling from overtaking her completely. When she glanced back towards him, he offered as reassuring of a look as he could muster. Her timid smile convinced him that she appreciated the gesture.

He could only imagine what she was going through in dealing with the immediate past while preparing for the inevitable future. Such a thing he wished on no one.

* * *

><p>As they walked the path to Breezehome, the door swung open. The Khajiit stood on the step with a smile.<p>

"Kharjo," Marieka called out. "It is good to see you, my friend."

He descended the steps and reached for the pack that Ralof carried as he helped the Breton to her home.

"It is good to see you as well, Marieka," he replied. "And you must be Ralof."

He nodded back at the Khajiit. "Let's get you inside and sorted out. Don't even think about the task at Dragonsreach until you have relaxed for a bit."

She smiled up at the Nord. "Thank you again, Ralof. You really have been too—"

"Think nothing of it."

Kharjo entered the house, followed closely behind by Marieka. As Ralof entered the house, he lowered the items he carried to the ground. No sooner did he let go of the packs, he heard the Breton gasp. He looked back at her quickly, wondering what prompted the exclamation.

Her eyes were directed to the rear of the house and as her hand flew to her mouth, he heard the reason for her surprise.

"Hello, Marieka."


	46. Brynjolf XVI

**I am so sorry. Eleven months is inexcusable. I promise you. It will not take me so long for the next chapter.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Brynjolf XVI<strong>_

_So a crowd has gathered around us, I'm pining one last kiss  
>Struggling with this lifeline, in the shadow of this bliss<br>Patience my love  
>Patience my love…it'll all be alright<em>

_Ain't it funny how the fates work, been cheated by the turn  
>But this love it hovers over us and the lessons that we've learned<br>Patience my love  
>Patience my love<em>

_With your arms around me, you're singing softly  
>And I fade from memory and move on<em>

'_These Living Arms', The Tea Party (Martin, Chatwood, Burrows)_

* * *

><p>The woman across the room looked weak. Weathered.<p>

And unfortunately, less than relieved to see him.

His eyes trailed over the bandages that wrapped both of her feet and left hand. Her skin tone was not nearly as vibrant as when he saw her mere days before. She was hunched over and her gait was noticeably shorter than usual.

"Brynjolf," Marieka began. "I…didn't want you to be here. Worrying about me and…"

He could no longer stand so far from her and rushed to her when she failed to continue speaking.

"Mari, I will forever worry over you," he reminded her. "Of course I came."

He saw her glare at Ralof briefly.

"Please, my friend," Kharjo interjected. "It was not kind Ralof who informed Brynjolf of your imminent arrival. It was Khajit."

She placed her hand upon his forearm and nodded.

"I am not upset," she said, softly, looking at Kharjo. "Merely surprised to see him."

The Khajit nodded, turning quickly to Ralof. "I trust your journey leaves you hungry. Thirsty, no?"

Ralof nodded.

"Then we shall leave you to…each other."

Marieka smiled timidly as the two made their way out of the door. She looked back up at Brynjolf. He noted a particular haunting sadness behind her expression. Instinctively, his arms found their way around her and he carefully tightened into an embrace. She did not respond for some moments, but eventually relaxed into his arms.

"When you disappeared, Marieka," he whispered, "I thought you'd left without saying goodbye. I thought you'd disappeared intentionally." He kissed her gently on the top of her head, and then slowly pulled away to look at her. "But then," he continued, reaching into his pocket, "I found this."

Her eyes trailed down towards the note in his hand; the warning from the Dark Brotherhood was even more ominous, as she was aware the lengths to which they would go for a kill.

He continued to hold her by her shoulders, squeezing them with concern.

"What happened to you?"

She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, silently willing herself the courage to speak. "I need to rest, Bryn. Can we sit?"

He nodded and led her to a chair by the fire. As she sat down, he pulled the other chair closer to her. He sat down and took her hands in his. The flames flickered behind him; the only sparkle to be found in her eyes.

She drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she stared straight ahead. Her gaze was vacant.

"The assassins," she began. "They took me. Brought me to some…shack in the north. When I came to, they…no, she told me I owed them a debt. That I had _stolen_ something from them."

He furrowed his brow, confused for a moment.

"What could you have possibly stolen from these assassins?" he asked.

She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. They believed it and that's what mattered to them."

"Does this have anything to do with –," he began to ask, his question trailing off into realization.

She looked at him quickly, before turning away shamefully.

"That woman," she began. "She treated the children so poorly at the orphanage. How could we stand aside and just watch it happen? A call for help was made. I simply answered it."

"I'm not judging you, Marieka."

She paused and looked back at him.

"It doesn't matter. The fact remains that judgment has been rendered upon me. I have lost everything."

He leaned towards her.

"What are you saying?"

"The baby, Bryn. The baby is gone."

His eyelids slid down and his lips pursed. Her eyes watered as she looked at the expression upon his face. He was gutted. Several measured breaths later, his eyes opened once more and he looked to meet hers.

But she would not look at him. She could not.

"Mari," he begged, "please. Look at me." He stretched his hand out towards her, placing it gently on her knee. She immediately withdrew from his advance and stood up, walking towards the fire.

He wanted so badly to tell her that he didn't blame her. He was bewildered by the loss and couldn't get a handle on his emotions, but he knew it wasn't her fault. He wanted to support her, but she could do nothing but push him away.

"I can't do this anymore, Bryn," she began. "This saving Skyrim thing. I…it's killing me."

"You don't have to, Marieka."

"No," she replied immediately. "I do. There is no choice. But I don't know if I'm going to survive this."

"You don't have to do this alone," he reminded her. "I'm here. I will help you."

She shook her head sadly.

"No. I refuse to let anyone else die because of me."

Brynjolf stood quietly, uncertain of how to respond. She was stubborn. Defiant. And he knew that there would be no arguing with her.

"I need to be alone," she said, walking to the door and exiting the home.

The dull thud of the door echoed in his ears. Everything sounded hollow. Everything _felt_ hollow. The loss of the child that he had never held or known was shocking. His devastation over it was only matched by his worry for Marieka.

He slumped on to the nearest chair. And wept.

* * *

><p>It had been the afternoon when Marieka stepped out of Breezehome. As the sun slipped across the sky, passing behind thick snow clouds casting ominous shadows throughout Whiterun, Brynjolf decided his grief could wait. Marieka was not to be found and he needed her with him. Pulling on a thicker coat to fight the chill in the air, he advised Ralof and Kharjo, who had since returned, of his planned departure.<p>

"I won't be long," he announced. "If Marieka returns before I do, please make sure she stays here."

The two nodded their reassurances. Brynjolf turned towards the door once again and headed out into the early evening air. Daylight still barely hovered over the city as light from the lanterns in homes and businesses began to dot the landscape. He wasn't sure how he was going to find her. Whiterun was not a large place, but he'd had no idea where she would have gone. A tavern? Perhaps to visit with the Nord she'd told him of on a few occasions; he was certain this Farkas was in the city. With no solid evidence or idea of where she'd go in a foreign locale, he decided to wander. Even with the cold weather, the evening was not unbearable.

People milled about, purchasing the last items of the day's market goods. Children darted in and out of buildings, nearly knocking several pedestrians off of their feet. The laughter echoed in the street, reminding Brynjolf of his most recent loss. He wondered if Marieka heard it too. If she ignored it, or let the sounds fill her head with a profound sadness.

As he ascended the steps towards the Wind District, the Gildergreen tree quickly began to dominate his field of vision. Towards the right, he could see a shrine to Talos surrounded by benches. A cloaked priest barked words of worship and praise for the hero god. Brynjolf hadn't a clue what the man said; everything began to blur together into a common din. When he reached the courtyard in front of the majestic tree, he saw her.

Marieka sat on a bench, her knees drawn up to her chest and arms curled around her calves. Her chin rested upon her knee, as she stared off into some unknown abyss. He watched her for some time, unable to bring himself to approach her. She was withdrawn from the world, despite being in the centre of it. She barely moved; even her breathing didn't appear evident. If he had not known better, she'd have appeared as a statue.

He peered around the tree, out of her sight, wondering what could have been going through her head at that moment. He'd only had mere hours to come to grips with the loss of their baby, but she had been alone for days. She had the weight of the world on her shoulders and was not willing to accept any help to bear its burden. What could he say to her? What could take it all away?

His consideration of her thoughts was short lived. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a figure, cloaked and hooded approaching her from behind. He'd not have been wary of the situation had the individual moved at a normal gait, or had there not been a dagger at his belt. His intentions were clear as he drew the weapon only a few steps behind her.

"Marieka!" he called out in warning. Simultaneously, he dashed towards the man, catching his attention and distracting him from his purported mission.

When the man spun around, the Nord threw a punch at him, knocking him against the stone steps to Dragonsreach, his feet splashing into the adjacent pool. Holding himself against the wall, he edged a few steps away from Brynjolf. When the Nord reached for the would-be assassin's cloak to restrain him, he once again grabbed his dagger, bringing it up towards the towering man and lodging it into his chest. Brynjolf stumbled, allowing the assassin to escape from his grasp. He fell backwards on to the street, where a crowd had already begun to gather from the commotion.

The events, so quickly carried out, did not allow for Marieka to react. Her horrified cry echoed through the Wind District as Brynjolf crumpled to the ground before her.

"Brynjolf!"

Her heart stopped when she looked at him. The blade stuck out from his chest…near his _heart_. It was positioned in a way that it did not allow the wound to bleed so quickly. She feared moving it would cause the wound to haemorrhage more rapidly. She fell to her knees beside him. He was conscious…thank the _gods_ he was still conscious.

"Brynjolf…my love," she cried out, fighting back the tears threatening her; stinging her eyes.

"Mar…Marieka…" he sputtered, coughing and wincing in pain. "I couldn't let him…get to you…Mari…"

"Shhh," she whispered. "I'm going to heal you."

"Marieka…you…you can't," he said. "It's…the dagger…it's…"

She looked carefully at it. It was horribly shaped; a curved form…a nightmarish serrated edge. A thick substance had been applied to the blade. "What is that?" she asked, despite knowing the answer.

Brynjolf began to cough, pain radiating from the wound with every movement.

By that point, the priestess from the Temple of Kynareth had approached, kneeling beside Brynjolf across from Marieka.

The Breton's eyes widened, threatening to spill tears that had built up.

"Please," she begged. "Can you help him?"

"Give me a moment, dear," the woman calmly replied.

Marieka grabbed his hand, holding it tightly.

"What is your name, Nord?" she asked.

"Brynjolf," he coughed.

The priestess took some moments, examining the blade and the substance upon it. After several eternities, she called for those from the temple to bring her potions of healing. When they arrived, she instructed them of their use.

"Dear…please. I must speak with you," the priestess said.

Marieka kissed Brynjolf's hand gently. "I'll be right here."

He nodded roughly.

As she reached the priestess, Marieka's eyes widened in recognition.

"My dear Thane," she began. "I didn't realize it was you."

"What can be done, healer? Please, tell me _something_ can be done."

"I'm afraid the news is not good," she whispered. "The blade is such that...if it is removed, it may shred him inside and he will bleed out too quickly. The blade is enchanted. I have tried to heal him, but the blade absorbed all of my energies. This is beyond my skill. And…there is a thick poison coating the blade. If this was meant for you, someone did not want you to survive. It…it does not look—"

"The Brotherhood," she mumbled. Her heart sank. She had crossed the assassins and it had caused the death of her baby and was killing Brynjolf.

The crowd began to encroach upon Brynjolf, people clamoring to see what had happened.

"No!" she cried. "Get away from him! Everyone get away! Leave him be, by the nine!" The crowd pushed back slightly in response to her words, but most remained – merely a little further away.

The priestess placed her hand gently on Marieka's shoulder.

"We will do all we can, Thane. Give them a few moments."

Marieka nodded slowly. She turned her attention back to Brynjolf. His face was losing colour. The healers stepped away from him and approached the priestess.

"I may be able to remove the blade," the man said. "But I will need further supplies."

"Then go," the woman replied. "Get what you need and hurry back."

He nodded and rushed off.

"Go to him," the priestess instructed Marieka. "Be with him until my healer returns."

Marieka rushed back to Brynjolf's side, kneeling once more and taking his hand in hers.

"I…I don't think I'm going to make this one, love," he admitted to her, his voice weak and hesitant.

"No! You don't get to do this, Brynjolf. You don't get to die on me." She could no longer hold the tears back and they began to stream down her face.

He lifted his hand up to her face, cupping it gently. She shuddered at his touch, closing her eyes. She put her hand over his and looked back down at him.

"I…I told you that I'd…never let anyone hurt you…that I'd…protect you," he said weakly. "I meant it, Marieka. Even…even at this cost."

"No, Brynjolf…no…" She buried her face into the crook of his neck and wept. His hand delved into her hair, and he moved his mouth to kiss the side of her face.

"It's…okay, love," he whispered. "It's okay. It'll be all right."

She pulled back and looked at him, shaking her head. "No. Nothing is going to be okay, Bryn. You can't leave me. You can't…" She attempted to pull away. "I can find something for this. I can help you." She was panicking. Shaking. Grief from the inevitable was overtaking her.

Brynjolf calmly put his hand upon hers and shook his head. "Marieka…no. You need to stop this. It's…it's over, love. You can't save me. And there's only one thing that I want in this world right now. I want you to be here with me…just be here." He could feel the poison burning through him slowly. The blade in his chest no longer hurt him. He wanted so badly to end her pain that he continued to ignore his own. "Do not cry, love."

"How? How can you tell me not to cry?"

She sobbed, not remotely keeping herself together in front of him.

"Do not feel sadness," he said. "Be at peace, love. Be at peace…knowing that I will serve Nocturnal. I will wait for you there. I will always wait for you." He gritted his teeth; biting back the pain. Tears of his own began to spill on to his face.

"Oh, love," she said, reaching her trembling fingers to wipe his cheek. "I don't want you to leave me, Brynjolf. You can't leave me. I love you."

"And I, you," he replied. "But…what I want, and what is going to happen…are two very different things." He clasped her hand within his again. "Promise me something."

"Anything."

"Promise me you'll be strong. Promise me that you will take care of yourself. I don't want this harm to come to you."

"Oh Bryn," she choked out. "I…I don't know if I can promise that."

"You can," he replied. "You're stronger than you even know."

She reached out for him, wrapping one arm under his back, and the other stroking his face. "It's too soon, Bryn."

"I know it is, lass," he said. "We never seem to have enough time, do we?" He reached up to touch her face. "Gods, Marieka…you're so soft. I will miss the feel of you." He pulled her towards him and inhaled deeply. "And your scent. You smell divine, my love. I shall carry these memories no matter where I go."

His words were destroying her. She could barely formulate a coherent thought through her tears. The man that brought every piece of her to life was dying before her. And she couldn't save him. There was nothing she could do.

"I'll always be with you…in here," he said, placing his hand over her heart. "I'll never leave you."

She looked into his eyes as they grew unfocused, darting up and down.

"Do you remember, love? When we first met?" he asked. "You were such an…angry woman back then. You threatened to slit my throat."

"I remember." She nearly choked out the words as she blinked away the tears, forcing a smile. "I'm…I'm glad I gave you a chance."

"As am I, lass. I planned to…bed you and rob you that night," he recalled. "But it was you who robbed me, love. You…stole my heart and my every thought from that moment on." He smiled at her.

She leaned forward, kissing his forehead. His skin was cold…clammy…

"You made my life worth living, lass," he told her. "You've no idea…how much better I've been for knowing you. Kiss me, Marieka. I need to feel your kiss once more."

Shivering, she carefully leaned in towards him, so as not to cause him further pain as the blade remained jutting out of his chest. Her lips touched his as his fingers stroked her hair. She pressed her mouth to his deeply, knowing it was likely the last time she would ever do so. In that moment, they were the only two people that mattered; the only two that _existed_. She'd have made the moment last for eternity if she could freeze time. The touch of his lips…the taste of them…the way he smelled…the sound of his breathing…the feel of his coarse hair as she brushed through it gently. She heard him moan; his breaths changing, becoming harsh and ragged. When she pulled back from him, she opened her eyes and gazed into his. The gasp she expelled when she realized they were losing their sparkle was audible, causing him to frown.

Brynjold held the back of her head weakly in his hand, pulling her forehead to his. He stayed that way for several moments, before he kissed her there softly.

"Marieka, love," he whispered. "Sing to me…"

She wiped away her tears quickly, moving to cradle him in her arms. He looked up at her…fading…desperate to watch her face until the end. She remembered back to the time he had first sung her the lullaby…how beautiful it had sounded to her ears. And every night they spent together since, he sang it to her again and again. She'd always felt comforted by his voice, so soft and reassuring, soothing her very soul.

Nothing could have ever been more appropriate in those final moments.

She lifted her head, opening her mouth to sing to him. Her voice wavered at first, but as she closed her eyes and the words passed through her lips to his ears, her confidence grew.

"Bíum, bíum, bambaló…bambaló og dillidillidó. My little friend I lull to rest…but outside, a face looms at the window. When the mighty mountains fill your heart with burning desire…I play on the langspil, and soothe your mind. Bíum, bíum, bambaló…bambaló og dillidillidó. My little friend I lull to rest…but outside, a face looms at the window. When the cruel storms rage and the dark blizzard crouches above…I shall light five candles, and drive away the winter shadows…"

She held her breath. No sounds could be heard. Not the crowd that surrounded them. Not the noise from the market below. Not the birds in the sky.

Her eyes opened, falling upon his face once more. His were closed. Breath barely graced his lips. He was still in her arms.

"Brynjolf," she whispered. Her hands found the side of his face. "Brynjolf…my love…" Her voice, trembling and frantic, continued to repeat his name. But he didn't respond. He'd fallen unconscious.

She spun her head around towards the priestess.

"Where is your healer?" she demanded. "Help him!"

"He comes!" she cried out, pointing in the direction of the temple. The man hurried with a sack of what she hoped were the items necessary to help the Nord on the ground to survive his grievous wound.

Just as the healer knelt by Brynjolf's side, the ground trembled as a dreadful howl surged across the skies. Screams could be heard beyond Dragonsreach. The sky, now dusky, lit up as a burst of fire appeared in the distance.

"Dragon!"

The gathered crowd panicked, descending quickly into chaos. Shouts and screams arose, as those observing Brynjolf's pained moments dispersed, fleeing from the courtyard.

"Dragonborn!" one of the healers called out. "You must go!"

She shook her head slowly.

"No."

She remained on her knees, holding Brynjolf's hand and brushing the hair back from his face. She did not want to say goodbye.

"Marieka!" called a familiar voice.

She looked over her shoulder to see both Kharjo and Ralof approaching her. They saw her face, and Brynjolf on the ground and both their hearts dropped.

"Oh, Marieka," Ralof stammered. "I…I'm so sorry."

The Khajit could say nothing. He merely lowered his head with a pained expression.

"My Thane, you are the Dragonborn. The people of Whiterun need you," the priestess insisted.

"Brynjolf needs me! Fuck the people of Whiterun!" she spat.

The healer across from her looked up at her and placed his hand upon hers. "We are doing what we can, Dragonborn."

Ralof leaned towards her. "Marieka, we will be with him."

She wiped the tears off her cheeks and sat back on her heels. She took a deep breath.

"It's too much," she declared in resignation, shaking her head. "Ralof, don't you dare leave him."

"Never."

He helped her to her feet and drew her into a tight embrace.

"Good luck," Ralof whispered into her ear. "We will stay with Brynjolf. We will make sure they do everything they can."

As she pulled back, she closed her eyes, nodding.

"Thank you, my friend."

She embraced Kharjo as well. He remained silent.

Marieka began her ascent to Dragonsreach as another roar rang out over the noise of the panicked city. She looked back towards Brynjolf. He remained motionless. Turning away from him, she broke into a run up the stairs. Ralof and Kharjo watched until she was no longer in sight.

They stood, helpless. Both wondered if either the Nord or the Breton would survive through this night. Neither had the answer.


End file.
